


Hatred Reborn

by Miko



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-23
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hundreds of sweeps after Sollux's death, Eridan has never found another kismesis he could hate half as much. Sollux's last words to him promised him 'another chance', but as far as he's concerned, nobody can ever take Sollux's place in his spade.</p><p>Until a young new adult walks into the office of the Grand Disdain, wearing Sollux's symbol and with Sollux's blood, and a hauntingly familiar face. Castor is everything Eridan has been missing about his kismesis, but he's also his own person and he's got no reason to appreciate the advances of a high-blooded asshole. In trying to win him over, Eridan discovers some disturbing truths about the lives of the low-bloods in the Empire. Psychics are being tampered with, their memories erased and reprogrammed, and the lower bloods are ready to revolt.</p><p>Eridan must overcome his own natural arrogance and his belief in the system to work together with Castor to find out what's happening. Unfortunately, there's a few important things Castor forgot to mention about himself...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I started plotting and working on this before the latest updates about the Signless and his group came out. While on the one hand I was validated in the idea that not all the Ancestors were sent BACK in time, (and also in the shitty way low-blood psychics get treated,) of course this has also been thoroughly Joss'd by the existence of the Psiioniic. So here, have an AU instead, lol.
> 
> I chose not to use archive warnings because technically, it should have a 'major character death' warning and I didn't want people scared off. This is not a death fic, it's in no way focused on the death of the character, in fact it happens in the prologue and has almost no emotional impact on the rest of the story. I personally can't bear to read almost anything with character death in it, and I would be okay with this one. But I wanted to give the warning here, in case you are truly sensitive about the issue.

It didn't do to ignore an Imperial Summons, especially if you were already not exactly in Her Imperial Condescension's good graces. That didn't mean Eridan wasn't grumbling and dragging his feet as he approached Sollux's hive.

Why Feferi wanted to see him _here_ was beyond him. Having the three of them together was always a recipe for disaster. And he didn't see any sign of her guards, which meant it was private business, nothing to do with the empire.

To his surprise, the door swung open as he neared it, not even demanding a password. _That_ was unusual. Sollux valued his privacy very highly, and he absolutely hated to be disturbed when he was coding. He also took far too much delight in making Eridan ask politely for entrance, and then leaving him hanging around waiting anyway.

"Fef? Sol?" he called as he entered. There was no sign of anyone in the main block, so he headed for the respite block. If it turned out that Sollux had arranged all of this just so that Eridan would walk in to see Sollux pailing Feferi, Eridan swore he was going to kill the piss-blooded grubfucker once and for all.

He poked his head into the block cautiously. Feferi was indeed crouched beside Sollux in one corner, but they were both fully clothed. All he could really see was Feferi's back, since she was turned away and blocking his view of Sollux. "Wwhat the fuck is going on?" he demanded irritably.

Feferi twisted around to face him, one finger pressed to her lips in a sign for silence. Eridan was literally stunned speechless when he saw the watery tyrian tracks on her cheeks. She'd been crying?

Then he stepped further forward and finally got a good look at his kismesis, and suddenly he couldn't get any air through his windtube.

Sollux looked like death warmed over, literally. He was beyond gaunt, his skin stretched over his bones as if he'd lost half his body weight since Eridan had seen him last. He was sweating hard, his hair plastered damply across his forehead and tangled around his horns. Eridan had seen the idiot looking pretty bad immediately following one of his ridiculous mood swings, but never like _this_.

He wasn't wearing his glasses, and when he opened his eyes at Eridan's approach the red and blue glittered with feverish energy. "Bout time you got here," he said, his voice a hoarse rasp that was hardly more than a whisper. "Thought you were gonna mith the party. Don't think I coulda held on much longer."

"Wwhat happened? Poison?" Eridan asked, his voice hushed despite himself. Sollux shook his head. Eridan crouched down next to him, across from Feferi, and took his other hand. The heat of Sollux's skin was nearly enough to scald Eridan, and he hissed between his teeth in surprise. Even for a low-blood this much heat was impossible. Eridan didn't know how Sollux was alive at all, though his words indicated it might be due to sheer will power.

"If you wwere sick, you should a gone to a hospital," Eridan tried to scold him, but his voice broke on the words. This was not how Sollux was supposed to die. It was supposed to happen in a glorious battle in which Eridan finally got the best of him, damn it. "You stupid, stubborn, wwork-obsessed..."

"Fuck, don't you ever shut up?" Sollux asked. He laughed, the most horrible rattling sound Eridan had ever heard anyone make. "Did you come here to hear what I have to thay, or to lithten to yourthelf rant?"

"Just let him talk, Eridan," Feferi ordered impatiently. "He's been clammed up tight until you got here, and you took your glubbing time about it!"

"I don't... have long," Sollux agreed. Already he sounded noticeably fainter. "The only voithe I can hear anymore ith my own, and it'th tho loud. FF, you _need_ to thettle the pthychic problem. Unleth you make sure they have every reathon to be loyal to you, they'll be the biggetht threat to your reign. You could never have overthrown the previouth Condethe without our help, and you need to be sure your eventual heir won't be able to do the thame to you. Win them over; whatever it taketh will be worth it."

"I will," Feferi promised, fresh tears swimming in her eyes. "I won't surface until every last one is loyal to me."

Sollux's fingers tightened faintly around Eridan's. The feverish intensity in his eyes was fading, and so was the brightness of the colours. The red and blue were both going dull and dark, but the corner of his lips tilted up in a ghost of the smug grin that Eridan hated so much. "You never did get the betht of me, but don't worry... you'll have another chanthe. Not that you'll manage any better in the future. Try not to jutht emo around until then, ok? FF will need you."

He laughed again, and this time it was just a breathy wheeze of air, not really a sound at all. "Take care of her," Sollux whispered, the words now coming slowly and with obvious effort. "I _know_ you thtill pity her, tho no matter how much it eatth at you to follow my order, I can count on you."

"Oh, you are an upright asshole," Eridan swore. Of course he would have looked after Feferi without Sollux telling him to, that went without saying. So the fact that Sollux _had_ said it was merely to ensure that Eridan would forever have his nose rubbed in the fact that he was doing exactly what his kismesis had asked him to do.

Fuck, how he hated this troll. How was he ever supposed to find another kismesis who could best him so infuriatingly?

And what did Sollux mean, he'd have another chance?

"FF..." Sollux could barely be heard now, his voice was so weak. The red and blue glow had faded entirely, and Eridan was surprised to see perfectly normal orange-yellow troll eyes beneath, his pupils the same mustard-yellow as his blood. "I'm thorry... I have to... leave you tho... early."

"We knew it would happen," Feferi answered, and Eridan was surprised that her voice barely wavered despite the rivers of magenta on her cheeks. "There will never be anyone I pity more than you."

Sollux closed his eyes, and his grip went lax in Eridan's. "Oh," he breathed, and he sounded surprised and pleased. "It'th tho quiet."

And then he was gone.

Feferi started glubbing outright, burying her face in her hands. Eridan's windtube ached, and after a moment he realized that the grieving keen he could hear was coming from him, not Feferi.

"Wwhat _happened_?" he demanded again, fighting to get the words out past the restriction. "If he wwasn't poisoned and he wwasn't sick, then wwhat? Did he do this to _himself_? He sure looks like he ain't eaten in a perigee."

"He was... he was more than fifty sweeps, Eridan," Feferi choked out between glubs. "That's reel-y _old_ for a yellow-blood."

Old? Sollux was old? Eridan suddenly felt cold. He knew that low-bloods didn't live as long as high-bloods, and once a troll reached their final adult metamorphosis, they didn't visibly age any further. Only in the last days before their death would their body start to break down, consuming itself as their metabolism kicked into impossible overdrive. Exactly what it appeared had happened to Sollux.

Why was Sollux the first of them to die, when he wasn't the lowest blood? Of course, Aradia was still God Tier, so for all Eridan knew that meant she'd _never_ die. And Tavros took good care of his body, too grateful to have it back in working condition to risk doing anything that might hurt it. Unlike Sollux, who regularly went without sleep or food for nights at a time.

But a lousy half a hundred sweeps?

"Almost a week ago he started herring himself among the voices of the soon to be dead," Feferi said miserably. "I... I couldn't get here before today, there was just too much to do, and no matter how much I pity him, the empire has to come first!"

A week ago? Eridan had gotten a weirdly civil text message from Sollux about a week ago, asking him to come to see him. Eridan had ignored it, figuring that being forced to wait for him would make Sollux angry and show Eridan's disdain for him at the same time. He'd been just starting to contemplate finally making an appearance when he'd received Feferi's Summons, but he wouldn't have given in for at least a few more days. He would have arrived to find Sollux cold and dead, and never known why.

Belatedly he realized that Feferi was glubbing harder, and the last part of what she'd said actually registered.

"Fef..." Awkwardly, Eridan reached out to touch her shoulder, not certain of his reception. She'd been cold to him since the day she'd broken their moiraillegiance, and really only Sollux had connected them for a very long time. But she was hurting, and he wanted to comfort her if only she would let him. "Fef, he wwouldn't wwant you to beat yourself up ovver it. Fuck, he kneww wwhat your life was like. And if you'd come wwhen he first called, there's no wway you could a stayed more than a day, and you wwouldn't be here noww. Ain't that more important?"

"Yeah," Feferi said, and sniffled. "I'm just so shellfish, I hate that I hardly ever got the op-perch-tuna-ty to spend time with him. Why couldn't I at least be here with him for his last rays?"

She was really upset - he hadn't heard that many sea puns from her in a long time, not since she'd taken the throne. She made an effort not to use them, so as not to make the land dwellers feel alienated, she said.

"He spent half a his life fightin to put you on the throne, Fef," Eridan reminded her, as gently as he could. "He wwouldn't a wwanted you to ditch that for him. You heard him - his last thoughts wwere for the safety of your reign."

"I know," she glubbed, and to his astonishment she turned and threw herself into his arms, hiding her face against his shoulder. "I know, but..."

There was a time when he would have given anything to feel her against him like this, but he'd long ago accepted her choice. Even though he'd never forgiven Sollux for _being_ that choice. Now he was surprised to find no trace of mating fondness in the nearly overwhelming pity he felt for her.

"I don't know if I can do this without him," Feferi admitted. "Knowing I could turn to him was the sole fin that got me through, sometimes. Now my matesprit is gone, and I never did find another moray-eel, and it's shore not like my kismesis is gonna give a carp. I'm the ruler of a gill-actic empire, and yet I eel so alone!"

"You're not alone, Fef. You still got me, you alwways wwill. Evven if you don't want me, you'll still havve me if you need me. Like now." He patted her awkwardly, and she peered up at him with suspicion clear in her eyes. He scowled back at her. " _No_ I'm not hittin on you. I lovved him too, you know! You're not the only one feelin alone right noww."

He'd hated Sollux so long and so passionately, and now it felt like there was an empty hollow in his soul. It hurt a million times worse than when Vriska had dumped him, so long ago. It even hurt worse than when Feferi had broken up with him.

"That's true," she said, apologetic. "I'm sorry, Eridan. I know you're be-reefed too."

"We should get outta here," Eridan suggested, tugging her to her feet. He didn't look down at Sollux's body. That empty shell was not his powerful kismesis any longer, and he refused to acknowledge it as such.

"I don't want to go out yet," Feferi said, shuddering. "As soon as I leave I have to goby-ack to being the Condesce. I shouldn't even have left, there are so many fins that need my attention, but I just can't face anyfin right now..."

"Fef, the Imperial Consort just died," Eridan pointed out. "Pretty sure that deservves at least a couple a days a national mourning declared."

"Oh... yes, of course, I suppose I'm allowed to do that." Shaking her head, Feferi looked up at him. She studied him as intently as if the secret to the universe was hidden in his eyes. "You really have changed. Being with him was good for you. You're a lot moray like someone I wouldn't mind calling my moirail."

"You... really?" Eridan stared at her, shocked.

"I suppose it's probably time I forgave you," she murmured, and hugged him. She seemed calmer now, the puns coming more occasionally. "And I think we could both use a moirail right now."

"Yeah," Eridan agreed, and his windtube tightened again at the reminder. "Yeah, I'd say wwe both deservve a good, long feelings jam. Wwhat say wwe find one a his stupid computer piles, and do that?"

Maybe it was a little morbid for them to feelings jam in Sollux's hive while his body grew cold in the next block, but if they went back to the palace Feferi was right that she'd be swarmed the moment she was seen. Even if she declared mourning, it would be a while before she got any privacy to actually grieve. Better to get it over with now, get the worst of the hurt out before she had to put her public face on.

Besides, doing it in Sollux's pile made it feel a little like he was still there with them.


	2. A Familiar Face

Paperwork. There were nights when Eridan felt like he almost understood what it would be like to drown, he became so buried in the glubbing _paperwork_. He hated it with a passion that far outstripped anything he'd felt for his various kismeses over the last few centuries.

Not that it was saying much to put it that way, considering the thoroughly lacklustre state of his caliginous quadrant. If not for the imperative need to be able to fill both buckets when the drones came calling, he wouldn't have bothered at all.

Nobody could ever hope to measure up to Sollux, anyway.

Sighing, Eridan wrenched his attention back to the task at hand. The accounts for the Land Embassy Budget needed to be reconciled, and it was going to take him several nights to finish them. Of course, he had accountants for that, but as far as he could tell everyone on his staff was incompetent at best, and outright conspiring against him at worst. Sometimes both.

Feferi had given him a very important responsibility when she'd made him Grand Disdain of Land Dweller Affairs, and he had no intention of letting her down. Even if it meant he had to do it all himself.

A knock on his door interrupted him as he was halfway through adding a long column of numbers. He growled as his concentration was broken and he promptly lost his place. "Oh, what the glubbing fuck is it now?" he called out.

The door opened and his assistant's assistant poked her head in. She looked nervous, and well she should be, a mere teal-blood daring to interrupt him. She should have gone to his assistant...

Oh wait, he'd fired his assistant that evening, hadn't he? Carp, he'd forgotten about that. The blue-blood had spilled grub tea all over his computer, shorting it out and scrambling all his files. Tech support hadn't been able to do a damn thing to recover them, which meant _perigees_ of extra work and late days for Eridan.

So all right, the secondary assistant had an excuse to come to him directly, but that didn't mean Eridan had to like it. She'd better not be expecting this to mean a promotion, she was far too low-blood for that.

"Well?" he demanded when she only stood there fretting. Definitely no promotion, fuck, he couldn't stand fidgeters. She'd be lucky to keep her current position if she kept that up.

"Excuse me, Disdainful, but you asked to be notified immediately when the new crop of adults arrived," she said.

"Oh, good," he exclaimed. "It's about glubbin time. Do you have their profiles?"

"Yes, Disdainful," she said, and handed him a thick sheaf of papers. Well, at least she was more competent than his last assistant had been, and was capable of thinking ahead to predict his needs. He'd be magnanimous and let her keep her current job, then.

Leaning back in his chair, Eridan flipped quickly through the papers, looking for anything of interest. Each one had the applicant's symbol clearly marked at the top, in their blood colour. That was enough to tell him the basics of their personality and temperament. The Imperial Palace had first dibs on all new adults arriving on planet from Alternia, and one of his jobs was picking out the ones that might be worth keeping.

Feferi had on occasion pointed out that he therefore had only himself to blame if his underlings were incompetent, but it wasn't his fault that the best of a worthless lot was still pretty bad. She also kept insisting that their work quality would improve if he treated them in a nicer way. _She_ might be able to get away with being gracious to the peasantry, because she was the Condesce and nobody dared to disrespect her, but Eridan had to fight for every scrap of respect from the lower classes. Besides, they should know their place.

Theoretically, any troll could be drafted for service to Her Imperial Condescension. In practice only the high-bloods and occasional extremely talented mid-blood would ever make it as far as his eyes, with the sea dwellers going on to serve at the main Palace underwater. Low-bloods weren't nearly good enough even for the Embassy, and anyway they died so fast it seemed like they were no sooner properly trained than they were keeling over.

Except for low-blood psychics, of course. All psychics, regardless of blood colour, were in mandatory service to the crown. It was a law Feferi had passed soon after Sollux's death. But that was an entirely different department, and Eridan had nothing to do with them.

So he was shocked when he reached the end of the pile and saw a familiar muddy yellow staring back up at him. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Still the same colour, and fuck, that symbol...

It wasn't. It couldn't be. It was _impossible_.

It was Sollux's symbol, in the exact colour of his blood. Even now, half a thousand sweeps later, Eridan would have known that shade anywhere.

"Wwhat the _fuck_ evven is this?" Eridan exclaimed, shocked enough that he slid back into the accent of his youth. Feferi demanded that the Palace staff speak as closely to Common Alternian as they could, even the dignitaries, to avoid the cacophony a thousand dialects and accents and quirks would have caused. But he thought he was justified in a little slip, at the moment.

"Ah, I know it's highly irregular, I questioned the messenger myself," the assistant said. "He's got the highest scores in computer competency in the last fifty sweeps, which is apparently as far back as the test goes. It might be worth considering him even though his blood is so low?"

Ignoring her as she babbled, Eridan pulled the sheet out and studied the rest of the details. Ridiculously high computer scores, yes. There was a notation that the troll had multiple physical mutations, but it didn't say what they were, only that he'd been allowed to live due to his phenomenal intelligence. The compulsory tests for psychic abilities came up solidly negative, but in all other respects Eridan could have been reading Sollux's profile.

"Get him in here," Eridan ordered, not even glancing up. "Fivve minutes ago. Movve!"

"Yes, Disdainful," the assistant squeaked. Judging by the half-running sound of her footsteps, she all but fled his presence. Just as well, he wanted to be alone for a moment to compose himself.

Looking at the top of the page again, Eridan checked the vital stats. Castor Deuces, gender male, age ten sweeps, blood color A1A100, Gemini symbol. No picture, but he would have the real thing in his office in a moment, so that hardly mattered. Would he look like Sollux? Or would he be completely different?

It seemed to take a million sweeps for him to arrive, but finally the assistant knocked. "Here he is, Disdainful." Trying not to hold his breath like a wriggler meeting his matesprit for the first time, Eridan looked up.

The troll standing before him wasn't an exact match for Sollux, but it was a near thing and the differences were mostly subtle. He was dressed in the black undesignated uniform of all newly-metamorphosed adults, and he wore his symbol as a pendant on a leather thong around his neck. He stood rigidly at attention, but there was a hint of pride in the set of his shoulders that usually only blue-bloods or higher displayed. He had the same wickedly pointed double horns, the same double fangs, and the same long, narrow features. He even looked half-starved, as Sollux usually had, as if he too occasionally forgot about minor details like the need to eat.

The biggest and most shocking difference was his eyes. Instead of red and blue, his eyes were both solid yellow.

Looking closer, Eridan realized that his first impression wasn't accurate. The troll had the normal orange-yellow sclera, it was just that his blood-coloured pupils weren't much different in shade.

"What's your name, low-blood?" Eridan asked, careful to keep his voice level and contemptuous.

"Castor Deuces, Disdainful," the troll answered easily. Eridan was disproportionately disappointed that he didn't have the slightest hint of a lisp. Wasn't it Sollux's double set of teeth that had made him lisp in that infuriatingly endearing manner?

"And just what makes you think you're anywhere near good enough to serve the Palace, with blood the colour a piss?" Eridan asked, the familiar taunts sliding past his lips without him intending to say them, even though it had been so long since the last time he used them.

This wasn't actually Sollux, he reminded himself, ignoring the way his vascular system squeezed longingly. Eridan couldn't treat him like an established kismesis. On the other hand, what better way to kick off the potential than to anger the low-blood from the start?

Not that Castor was displaying any signs of anger. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, and his voice was calm when he answered. "I'm the best programmer in the Empire. My blood colour has nothing to do with that. You'd be crazy to throw me away."

He sounded matter-of-fact, like he was stating something that should have been an obvious truth, not uttering near-heresy. For _anyone_ to talk to a Grand Disdain like that was skirting perilously close to treason, but for a yellow-blood it was practically suicide. He heard his secondary assistant gasp, and when he glanced briefly at her he saw that she was cowering in the doorway as if putting physical distance between her and Castor would prevent Eridan's ire from falling on her as well.

Turning his attention back to Castor, he permitted himself a thin, cold smile. "You've got a lot a guts, talkin to me like that," he said, steepling his fingers in front of him.

"With all due respect, I haven't made it this far by being timid," Castor replied. His confidence bordered on cockiness, and it reminded Eridan all the more strongly of Sollux. In one of his manic phases, anyway.

"No, I imagine you haven't," Eridan conceded. He waved one hand at the secondary assistant. "You could stand to learn a few things from him, girl. Shame on you, gettin schoolfed by a piss-blood. Go make me some tea or something. And don't spill it!"

"Yes, Disdainful," she said, and fled him for the second time that night.

The request had reminded Eridan of his current unappealing predicament, and gave him the perfect opportunity to test Castor in the process. "All right, here's how it's gonna go," he said, leaning back in his chair. "My computer got upright fried this evening, and tech support says there ain't a damn thing they can do about it. I need those files. If you can retrieve them for me, you're hired. If you can't... well, I hear the job market for low-bloods is pretty glutted. Don't think most of them have much use for a programmer."

Castor took a deep breath, and actually focused on Eridan directly for the first time. There was a fierce light in his eyes that Eridan recognized. It was the same look Sollux had whenever Eridan had seriously challenged him, or when he'd been buried in a coding project that pushed the limits of even his abilities.

"I'll need equipment," he said, voice level but a note of eagerness creeping in. " _My_ equipment, not whatever pieces of... junk pass for standard tech issue here. It's in my personal baggage allowance, but we haven't been permitted to retrieve it yet."

"You don't even know what the problem is, yet," Eridan pointed out. "You can't have much more than a husktop with you, the baggage limits for low-bloods are way too fuckin strict."

Castor shrugged. "You're not asking me to hack the Imperial database. I don't need anything more than my husktop to retrieve files from a corrupted drive."

"You saying you could hack our database?" Eridan laughed. Sollux had programmed their security, and it had never been broken in all the sweeps since, though many people had tried. Sollux had assured them that even _he_ wouldn't be able to break it. "Sounds like you're all brag and no show to me. It ain't never happened, and it never will."

"Just because no alarms were set off doesn't mean it's never been hacked," Castor replied. "Not that I’m admitting to having done any such thing. I'm just saying I could, in theory."

Was it possible? Could this wriggler be _better_ than Sollux? Or was it just that centuries of technological improvements had finally made Sollux's system outdated? In either case, it was a good thing Castor had come along now. It almost felt like fate.

"Put your future where your fangs are, piss-blood," Eridan said, and gestured at the ruined husk of his computer tower behind him. Now what in the Vast Glub was the secondary assistant's name? Not that it really mattered. "Hey, teal-blood! First off, where the fuck is my tea? And second, get this useless waste of blood his personal baggage. Released on my authority."

"Coming, Disdainful," the assistant said, reappearing in the doorway with a mug of steaming grub tea cupped carefully in her hands. She set it down on his desk, right in the spot where he liked it to be - something else his previous assistant had never managed. It was a shame she was so pathetically timid, or he might actually have considered promoting her after all. "You, come with me," she said, gesturing curtly to Castor.

Eridan was amused to note there was no trace of hesitancy in her demeanour when dealing with a lower caste. Well, that was as it should be. He really would have had to fire her if she'd been intimidated by a yellow-blood.

Once they were out of the office he turned his attention back to the other candidates, but he couldn't seem to focus on anything. He kept finding himself staring blankly at a sheet, his thoughts occupied with comparing Sollux to Castor. What other differences were there? What other similarities? How could this even have happened?

Sollux's last words to him tugged at his mind. The grubfucker had promised him a second chance. Was this what he'd meant? How had he known? He'd never been able to see this far into the future before. No psychic could, no matter how powerful. There were too many variables that could change the path after this much time had passed, or some sort of mumbo-jumbo like that.

If this _was_ his second chance, how best to go about taking advantage of it? Castor had spirit, at least, talking back to him like that. But still, the difference in their stations was far greater than the distance between Eridan and Sollux had been, despite the fact that Castor and Sollux had the same blood. Eridan was a Grand Disdain now, and Sollux had been the Imperial Consort. Castor was nothing, a piss-blood new adult who would be completely in Eridan's power.

Not that he would have minded having Sollux completely in his power, but it would have come after a struggle. If it was the default state then it wasn't a victory, it was just a fact. There was no satisfaction in that.

There had to be a way. Eridan vowed to keep Castor with him until he figured it out. One way or another, he wasn't letting this chance slip through his fins.

The sound of hushed voices approaching warned him that the other two were returning. Curious what they could possibly be talking about, Eridan strained to hear. "...member your station, low-blood," the assistant was saying. "You can't talk to the Disdain like that. You're just lucky he's in such a phenomenally good mood for some reason, normally he'd have beheaded you and probably me as well for good measure."

"Then I suggest you make yourself scarce," Castor replied with casual insolence. "Wouldn't want your precious noble blood spilled on my account. Scram, I can handle it from here."

Eridan heard her gasp, and he had to fight to conceal his amusement when Castor appeared in the doorway with no sign of the assistant behind him. Impertinently delivered or not, the teal-blood had apparently decided that it was good advice.

"Well, what are you waiting for, an engraved fuckin invitation? Get to work," Eridan ordered him.

Castor shrugged and moved around behind him to get at the ruined equipment. He unzipped his tiny bag and pulled out a husktop that took up pretty much the entire space inside. There was no way he had room for anything else other than a change of clothes in there, if that, so clearly the computer meant a lot to him.

When he booted it up, the screen resolved into a string of characters instead of the graphic interface that was standard. Just like Sollux's had. Shit, Eridan really needed to stop thinking about his lost kismesis or he was going to fucking tear up or something. It was hard enough to appear contemptuous as it was.

Muttering incomprehensibly under his breath, Castor started taking Eridan's computer tower apart to hook his laptop up to the inside. At that point Eridan turned his attention back to his work. There was no reason to watch over the low-blood's shoulder, none of it would mean anything to him. Besides, he didn't want Castor getting the impression that Eridan was interested in him. Tolerating a bit of spirit was one thing. Encouraging him to think highly of himself was another kettle of fish entirely.

It was still hard to focus, but Eridan gritted his teeth and forced himself to work. He started separating the profiles into 'definite yes', 'has potential', and 'definite no'. Sadly there were far too many of the latter.

He was only about halfway through the profiles when Castor spoke again. "What do you want me to do with the rescued files?" he asked. "They're not gonna do you any good sitting on my system. And I really doubt I'm allowed to look at any of this, anyway."

"You can back them up onto my assistant's computer when you get them," Eridan replied irritably. There was no need for the low-blood to interrupt him before he was ready to transfer the files. That was just useless chatter, distracting them both. "And you can fuckin well show a little respect, piss-blood. My title is Disdainful, and you oughtta be using it every time you address me."

"Sorry, Disdainful," Castor said. His tone was civil, almost sweet, but Eridan was sure the words were empty and mocking. Or was that just his memories of Sollux talking? "I'm just a low-blood nobody, I never expected to meet someone of your exalted station. I guess I just don't know the rules."

To Eridan’s surprise, Castor then pushed himself up from where he'd settled on the floor with the two systems. The yellow-blood stretched, his back cracking audibly, before turning to head for the outer office. "You can't be done already," Eridan exclaimed, astonished. Was the asshole actually daring to walk away from a task Eridan had set him? What was he doing, taking a _break_?

"Well, yeah," Castor replied, snorting. "Your motherboard's fried, your power system's toast, and I wouldn't trust the connections on that hard drive anymore. You definitely need a whole new system. What did you do, try to take it in the water with you? But it wasn't hard to connect the drive to my husktop long enough to get the data off. If your techies told you it wasn't possible, they were trolling you. Or else they know less about computers than my idiotic lusus did."

"Lousy disrespecting commoners," Eridan muttered, so furious he forgot to call Castor on leaving out his title again. That confirmed his suspicions that at least some of his staff were actively working against him. Not to mention there was still the question of how his previous assistant had done that much damage with an 'accidental' cup of tea.

Castor's mouth twitched, an odd expression like he'd almost scowled before suppressing it. "So, does that mean I pass your test, Disdainful?" he asked dryly.

"Fuck, yeah, you're hired," Eridan said, waving his hand. "Get the teal-blood to show you where my last assistant's desk was, and start goin through the files to familiarize yourself. Congratulations, piss-blood, you've officially risen above your station."

There was a moment of silence that felt disbelieving, and Eridan smirked to himself. Of course the scum-blood would be incredulous at being given such a fabulous opportunity. Anybody would be, let alone one so low-caste.

"You're... making me your assistant?" Castor asked slowly, like he doubted his sanity as he asked.

"Are you deaf? I just said so. What are you just standin there for? I detest idleness, I expect my staff to work as hard as I do," Eridan informed him.

Castor rubbed at his temple, a gesture Eridan recognized. When Sollux had done it, it meant one of his migraines was coming on. Well, that or he was for some reason fighting the urge to blast Eridan where he stood. Sometimes the latter had led to the former.

After a moment Castor gave a long, drawn-out sigh. "Okay, I can work with that," he murmured, something Eridan didn't think he'd been meant to overhear. "Thank you, Disdainful. I appreciate being given the chance to prove myself."

The words were respectful, and so was his tone. The bow he offered Eridan was precisely correct; whatever he'd said earlier about not being schoolfed in manners, he must have been practicing. And yet there was still something about his attitude, maybe something lurking in his expression, that hinted that he was in no way sincere in offering his thanks.

Nothing that Eridan could chew him out for, unfortunately. Well, there would probably be plenty of opportunities in the future. If Castor was as much like Sollux in temperament as he seemed to be, he wouldn't be able to resist the urge to needle Eridan eventually, no matter how inappropriate it was.

Eridan thoroughly looked forward to the opportunity to schoolfeed the asshole in exactly how low he was compared to Eridan.

* * *

"It's completely glubbin insane, Fef, you wwouldn't believve it if you saww it yourself," Eridan said. He was trying hard to contain his excitement, but he had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't doing a very good job. At least Feferi didn't insist that he speak perfect Common when they were talking alone, he didn't think he could manage it at the moment.

She frowned, looking sceptical. The quality of their screens and the video feed was top of the line, of course, but Eridan still wished she was there in person. He wanted to glub with her like the little grub he felt like at the moment. He wanted to be able to drag her into the other room and show her Castor, still working hard trying to familiarize himself with his new job despite the fact that everyone else had long since gone home.

"Eridan... I know you're excited, and I am too," Feferi said, though she didn't sound excited. "But it's not like we haven't encountered people who shared his symbol before, and it’s only available to yellow-bloods. They're similar to him, they'd have to be to choose that symbol, but they're not _him_."

"No, I'm tellin you, the colour is upright identical," Eridan insisted. "And he _looks_ exactly like Sol. Fef, he's evven got the double horns and teeth! None of the others evver had that."

For the first time, she looked interested. "That is different," she admitted. "And he's a computer programmer?"

"The best, he assures me," Eridan snorted. "Pretty fuckin full a himself, especially for a piss-blood. Evven Sol occasionally wwould go on about howw he wwasn't a good enough programmer, wwhen he got inta one a his stupid moods."

"Well, he's hardly going to tell you if he has doubts about his abilities, especially when you're interviewing him for a job, Eridan," Feferi pointed out, laughing. "But what are the odds that he would be so similar, even if their blood and symbol are the same? The mutations..."

"I been thinkin about that," Eridan said. "You knoww howw Vvris wwas so obsessed wwith the wwhole Ancestor thing. And I gotta say, some a the stuff she and I found on our advventures shore made it seem like she might be right, that wwe really did havve Ancestors wwho wwere just like us. If there are Ancestors, there's gotta be Descendents. Wwhat if this is Sol's Descendant?"

Feferi considered that, tapping her lips with one long, painted claw. "The Ancestor legend was actually started because of the special circumstances surrounding us, though," she pointed out. "Karkat created two nearly identical sets of wrigglers, which were then sent back in time to become us and our Ancestors. Nobody else really has them."

"Okay, but evven though all our meteors got sent back to pretty much the same time, the Ancestors ended up scattered through history, right?" Eridan insisted. "At least, the ones wwe been able to vverify. Wwhat if one a them came _forward_ instead?"

Now Feferi was truly beginning to look like she shared his excitement. "It could be," she admitted. "We never conchfirmed Sollux's Ancestor's existence in history. Are you _shore_ he's not psionic?"

"The tests are a solid negativve," Eridan admitted. "That's the one thing that doesn't fit. If he's really Sol's Descendent, he otter havve the same powers.

"Well, maybe they're not perfect clones of us," Feferi said, disappointed. "The records don't say if the Summoner could commune with beasts or not, and Tavros never grew wings."

"Evven wwith that difference, they're still practically the same person," Eridan said. “Cas and Sol, I mean. He evven talks to me like Sol did, all snarky like he thinks he’s got the right to say wwhatevver he likes to someone as high as me.”

“Eridan... however similar they might be, they’re not the _same_ ,” Feferi cautioned him. “This Castor doesn’t share Sollux’s memories of your time together, doesn’t feel the way towards you that Sollux did. He hasn’t been through the game. He’s had a different life and different upbringing, you can’t just treat him like he’s Sollux. Not even like he’s Sollux with anemonesia.”

“But Fef, don’t you remember wwhat Sol said to me, at the end?” Eridan insisted. “That I’d havve another chance to get the best a him.”

“And that you wouldn’t manage any better in the future, I remember,” Feferi said with a small smile. “Still, Castor is his own person and deserves to be treated as such. If you really want him as a kismesis, you’re going to have to work hard to win him over. And not just by treating him like pond scum all the time, either! That won’t get you the right kind of hate.”

That was true, and it was something Eridan would probably need to be careful of. It was one thing to constantly insult and degrade an established kismesis, because they already knew that you respected them enough to consider them a worthy opponent. But Castor had no way of knowing that Eridan saw him as anything other than a worthless low-blood. In fact he had absolutely every reason to believe that Eridan would never see him as a worthy anything, let alone a potential kismesis.

“You’re a good moirail, Fef, I dunno wwhat I’d do wwithout you,” Eridan said warmly. “Wwhat about you, howw are you takin this? You got a matesprit right noww, but if this is really Sol come again...”

“Their circumstances are still different, and they’re not the same person,” Feferi insisted, though not without a slightly longing look in her eyes. “I’m curious to meet him, but I’m happy with my quadrants right now. Anyway my relationship with Sollux was never appro-pirate, it was only atoll-erated because he helped to put me on the throne.”

“You’re the fuckin Condesce, Fef, it ain’t like there’s anybody in authority ovver you that could punish you,” Eridan pointed out.

“No, but I’m already dealing with one uprising at the moment,” Feferi sighed. “This ‘Wildcard Revolution’ is making enough waves without giving disgruntled high-bloods reason to dislike me.”

“True. Wwell, you’re still comin up here at the end a the perigee, right? I’ll introduce you to him then.” Eridan grinned to himself. Unlike Sollux, Castor was hardly going to be accustomed to spending personal time with royalty, and watching him flail in the presence of the Condesce would be fun. “It’ll be good to see you in person again, it’s been wway too long.”

“It has, and I’m looking forward to it,” Feferi agreed happily. “I’ll be able to stay for a while this time, too. I’ll sea you then!” She glubbed him a kiss and made a diamond at him with her fingers. He made one back, and signed off.

It was good to see her smiling and acting more like the girl he’d first known. She took so much on herself, ruling the massive empire her Ancestor had left her with. Eridan was the only one she felt free to really be herself with, she’d said so on many occasions. Even her matesprit was in awe of her, and like Eridan’s situation with kismeses she mostly filled the quadrant on principle.

Maybe meeting Castor in person would convince her that he really was enough like Sollux for her to trust him with her true self. Eridan was surprised to find the thought didn’t even make him jealous.


	3. A Disturbance And A Shock

“Here’s the printouts,” Castor said, thumping a large pile of papers onto the one previously clear corner of Eridan’s desk. Eridan glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised, and Castor dutifully added, “Disdainful.”

It had become a bit of a challenge between them – how many times in one day Castor could get away with not using the proper title when addressing Eridan. He always added it promptly when Eridan called him on it, and he never ‘forgot’ if any outsiders were present, so Eridan was letting it slide. For now.

His secondary assistant was thoroughly scandalized – by Castor’s attitude or just by the fact that she now had to report to a yellow-blood, Eridan wasn’t sure. She’d attempted to troll Castor to establish her dominance at first, but after less than a week she’d stopped and was now painfully civil to him. Eridan suspected the low-blood was holding something important on her computer hostage, or maybe blackmailing her with something he’d discovered while hacking her.

It was what Sollux would have done, anyway.

The similarities between them were truly uncanny, and it only got worse as time went on and Eridan got a Castor’s measure better. He’d accidentally called him ‘Sol’ on several occasions. Sometimes Eridan would just watch him and imagine it was his former kismesis instead. It wasn’t much of a stretch, as long as he ignored the eyes and the lack of a lisp.

Speaking of which… “Why don’t you lisp?” Eridan asked abruptly, stopping Castor in the doorway as he was leaving. The low-blood stared at him like he'd lost his fins, and belatedly Eridan realized how incredibly random the question would seem to someone who hadn’t known Sollux.

Castor looked oddly uncomfortable, as if Eridan was creeping him out. “What did you do, pull my adolescent file? How did you know I used to lisp?”

“I didn’t know, it was just a guess,” Eridan said. He reminded himself that he was in charge and had no need to justify himself if he didn’t want to. But he supposed a bit of further explanation wasn’t too troublesome, especially if he wanted a proper answer. “I used to know someone with fangs like yours, and he lisped somethin fierce.”

“I doubt he had fangs _quite_ like mine,” Castor grumbled, in the same disgruntled tone Sollux had often used when bitching about his mutations. “I had a bunch of teeth removed, like, first thing after my adult metamorphosis.”

“Won’t they just grow back?” Eridan asked, puzzled. Sollux had briefly lost his extra fangs and been able to speak clearly, but it hadn’t lasted long.

“Not if you remove the root,” Castor replied. “Cost every caeger I had, but I figured it was worth it not to sound like a retarded grub for my interview. Not that it mattered in the end,” he finished bitterly.

“What, you think I still woulda hired you no matter what you sounded like?” Eridan asked snidely. Really, the opinion this worthless low-blood had of himself was staggering.

“I don’t see why not. A retarded grub could easily _do_ this job,” Castor replied with a level of heat that astonished Eridan.

“Are you fuckin kidding me?” Eridan demanded “Do you have any idea how many high-bloods would give their fuckin right fin to have your position? You’re servin royalty, one a the Imperial Quadrants.”

A muscle tightened in Castor’s jaw, and he very obviously was biting down on what he wanted to say. “As I’ve said before, Disdainful, I appreciate the chance you’ve given me.”

“Doesn’t sound much like it at the moment,” Eridan said. “Go on, piss-blood, speak your mind. Tell me what you really think, if you dare.”

Castor visibly struggled with himself. "If you don't already understand what I'm talking about, nothing I say is going to make you get it."

"Try me," Eridan challenged him. What the fuck was this ungrateful low-blood even on about? The nerve of some people, complaining when they had so much more than anyone of their station could possibly deserve.

"Okay, fine. Have you actually _read_ my file?" Castor demanded. "Like, actually looked at the details, not just glanced at the colour of my symbol?"

"As a matter a fact, I have," Eridan informed him. "You think I'd pick just anybody to serve me, without bothering to look at their profile?"

"So, you realize I'm a _computer expert_ , right?" Castor went on, as if he hadn't heard Eridan's question.

That was upright rude, but Eridan decided to let it go for the moment in the interests of the larger argument. "Obviously, or I wouldn't have asked you to fix my computer the first day, would I?"

Castor stared at him for a moment, like he was expecting Eridan to say something else or make some connection. When Eridan continued to say nothing, he closed his eyes and worked his jaw again. Eridan wondered if he was counting in his head or something. Probably in beenary, the geek.

When he opened his eyes, he fixed Eridan with an unreadable expression. "If you realize that my only real value to the high-bloods lies in my exceptional ability with computers," he said slowly, like he was talking to a particularly slow wriggler, "why are you having me spend all my time printing reports and making you _grub tea_? Don't you think I could maybe be a little more useful somewhere that actually requires the knowledge I spent so many sweeps cramming into my mutant brain so that I could have a hope in hell of actually serving the palace?"

"You are serving the palace, right now," Eridan pointed out, still not quite clear on what the issue was. "What difference does it make how you're doin it? The skills got you the chance you wanted."

"Fuck, I don't know why I even bothered," Castor muttered, clearly disgusted. "If you'll please excuse me, I've got more printouts to do. _Disdainful_ ," he added, making his tone match the title.

"Now hold on just one cod-damned minute," Eridan said, shoving his chair back and standing. Leaning forward, he planted his hands on his desk and stared Castor down as best he could. The other troll was surprisingly tall for a low-blood, but Eridan was taller, and certainly better muscled. The part that made it difficult was the way Castor refused to look away or give ground in any way whatsoever, like he thought he had every right to stare back at Eridan as an equal.

"Do you even realize how far I'm goin outta my way to make a place for you, here?" Eridan demanded. "Do you have any idea how much flak I'm catchin from everyone around me? Here I am bein upright magnanimous, givin you an opportunity to rise above anyfin you could've hoped to do on your own. Don't you get that?"

"How is shuffling papers for you any different from shuffling papers for anyone else?" Castor retorted, fists clenching at his sides. "I don't even get _paid_ any better, since pay scale is determined by blood colour, not position. The only 'advantage' I have is being a target for every mid-blood loser who thinks they could do a better job than I do - and they're probably right, because I hate it so much!"

It was thrilling to see him arguing like this. Eridan basked in the waves of frustrated anger coming off the low-blood. Castor had all of Sollux's spirit in literal spades, and Eridan hadn't had anybody stand up to him like this in a long, long time. The only thing that would make it better was if Castor had said 'I hate _you_ so much', but that would come in time.

Of course, there was still the issue that Castor had no reason to think that Eridan would ever view him with enough respect to consider him a kismesis. Luckily, Eridan was pretty sure he had exactly the right bait to string that line with. He hadn’t been planning to mention anything until it was all ready to go, but it couldn’t hurt to let the fish out of the net a little early.

First he needed to bring Castor down a peg or two, though. "Well, ain't you the whiny, demanding little wriggler," Eridan taunted him. "You been here a whole, what, half a perigee? And already you think you oughta be upright runnin the place. Listen to you, 'I wanna work with computers, they're what I like and I don't wanna do anyfin else!' Like nobody else ever had to do stuff they didn't like as part of their job." Castor blushed a sickly yellow colour, and Eridan knew his words had hit the mark.

"As it happens," Eridan continued smugly, "I've just been keepin you busy while I get your security clearance pushed through. That sort a shit takes _time_ , I'll have you know, especially since I'm tryin to get you a clearance level way higher than someone with your piss-blood is allowed to have. Once that goes through, you'll be workin on a project to upgrade the Imperial data security systems. Is that geeky enough for you?"

"You're... I... _what_?" Castor breathed out, staring at him incredulously. "You can't be serious. Revamping the security protocols? _Me_? I mean... fuck, you mean I'd just be like, an errand boy for the high-bloods really doing the work, right?"

"Well, that pretty much depends on how well you perform until then, and how much you convince me you deserve it, doesn't it?" Eridan replied, sinking back into his chair and steepling his fingers in front of him. He smirked over his claws at the flustered yellow-blood. "So? What's it gonna be?"

“Disdainful, for a chance like that I will happily make you as many print-outs and cups of tea as you want,” Castor said, almost reverently. For once his tone was polite and Eridan actually believed it was sincere. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mouthed off like that, especially without fully understanding the situation.”

“Well, now you do understand,” Eridan said, inclining his head in gracious acceptance of the clumsy apology. Hook, line, and sinker. Had he ever managed to make Sollux apologize to him? Not that he could remember. “Now get back to fuckin work, and maybe for a change actually remember that the future of your career depends on you keeping me happy.”

“Yes, Disdainful,” Castor said, and bowed. “I’ll be sure to…”

The floor rocked beneath them, and a muffled boom like godly thunder echoed in the near distance. Eridan grabbed at the stacks of papers to keep them from sliding off his desk, and Castor made a dive for the monitor that just barely saved it from hitting the floor.

“What was that? An earthquake?” Castor asked, wide-eyed.

“Can’t be, there’s never been an earthquake here,” Eridan replied, just as shocked.

The monitor lit up in Castor’s hands as a high-priority incoming call buzzed the system. Hastily Castor set it back in place, and Eridan hit the button to accept the call. Only a handful of trolls had the number that would reach him directly like this, so it had to be important.

Sure enough the monitor cleared to reveal Equius, the Head of Security for the Embassy. “Disdainful, it behooves me to tell you there has been an incident,” he said, patting at his cheek with a towel. “Insurgents somehow managed to infiltrate the security and plant a powerful bomb at the Sea Dock level.”

“The Sea Dock…” Eridan’s blood ran cold. “Cod, Fef’s ship is supposed to be arrivving any minnoww. Is she…”

“The Condesce’s ship was in the process of docking, but thanks to her Helmsman’s quick action, the ship is mostly undamaged and she remains unharmed,” Equius assured him. “Unfortunately it will be some time before enough repairs have been made for her to disembark, and she has returned to the Palace until then.”

Castor made a small sound, like a cut-off sigh, and Eridan glanced at him. To his surprise he caught a flash of what looked like disappointment in the low-blood’s eyes, before Castor schooled his expression back to neutrality.

Eridan narrowed his own eyes, but he didn’t have time to deal with Castor just yet. He pointed an imperious finger at Castor and then at the floor, indicating that he wanted the low-blood to stay put, and turned his attention back to Equius. “Is anybody takin credit for the attack?”

Glancing off to one side, Equius accepted a sheaf of papers from someone and quickly scanned the contents. He frowned. “A playing card was found nearby, just far enough away that it wouldn’t be destroyed by the blast,” he said. “The Ashen Ace.”

“Fuckin Wwildcards,” Eridan swore. For the last several hundred sweeps the Wildcards had been an irritant to the Imperial Administration, a self-proclaimed crusade against ‘the tyranny of the high-bloods’. It was the sort of sewer dreck that cropped up every once in a while among the low-bloods, who liked to whine to each other about how they were oppressed and enslaved by the high-bloods, but in this case it was notable simply for the length of time they’d been operating. Usually low-blood revolutions died with the short-lived low-blood leaders.

Recently they’d stepped up their activities considerably. This was the first time they’d dared to attack directly, and from the sounds of it they had inside help somewhere. Only a few select people knew Feferi’s itinerary, so either it had been a total coincidence that they’d nearly managed to kill Feferi, or someone had given them the information.

“All right,” he finally said, shaking his head. “I’ll leavve you to it, you knoww your job better’n I do. Let me knoww if the invvesigation turns anyfin up.”

“Of course, Disdainful.” Equius saluted him, and signed off.

Now freed of his most pressing obligation, though Feferi would be expecting him to contact her soon, he turned his attention back to Castor. He took a moment to compose himself, not wanting to sound like he was upset. “All right, piss-blood, what was that all about?”

“Disdainful?” Castor replied, confused. “I know exactly as much as you do, and that only because I was standing here listening.”

“You looked disappointed,” Eridan countered. “When Eq said Fef was unharmed, you sighed and looked disappointed.” Inside help… and as much as it sickened him to consider it, standing in front of him was one low-blood who had known the exact time Feferi was supposed to arrive. He’d reminded Eridan of it first thing that evening, in fact.

Castor’s eyes went wide again, and he looked shocked and horrified. “No, _fuck_ no. I was disappointed because he said she’d gone back to the Palace! I was really looking forward to actually getting to see her in person. At a distance, of course,” he added hastily, as if Eridan might think he’d meant to go up and introduce himself to the Condesce.

That made sense, more than the thought that someone so similar to Sollux would be involved in an attempt to assassinate Feferi. Eridan allowed himself to relax. “Right. That’s okay, then. Don’t worry, you’ll get a chance to see her soon enough.”

Part of him wondered if he ought to apologize for jumping to conclusions… but then, it had been the obvious conclusion to jump to. Even if he hadn’t caught that flash of disappointment, he’d have been forced to suspect Castor just on the basis of his blood alone. “Go on, now. You got work to do, and I’ve got a mess to clean up.”

“Yes, Disdainful,” Castor said. “Just let me know if there’s anything I’m cleared enough to help you with.”

Pleased, Eridan waved him off. At least one thing in his life was finally going right.

* * *

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” Castor demanded, charging into his office with a sheaf of papers in one hand and his other clenched into a fist. “Because it’s not very funny, _Disdainful_.”

“How is it you’re the only troll I know that can manage to sound like he’s upright insultin me when he’s using my title?” Eridan mused, tilting his head and studying Castor. “What in the name a Gl’bgolyb are you on about now?”

“Probably because I’m saying it like I mean it,” Castor retorted, all traces of civility gone. He looked like he was one short step from challenging Eridan to a duel, which might have been satisfying except that Eridan had no idea what he’d done to piss the low-blood off so badly. He could hardly take credit for tormenting Castor if he hadn’t even done it on purpose.

It had been two days since their argument about Castor’s job, and until this moment the low-blood had been civil and even pleasant to him. Not that Eridan had seen much of him, since Castor didn’t have anywhere near a high enough clearance to help Eridan with sorting out the mess caused by the explosion. Instead Eridan had delegated some of his other work to Castor, figuring he ought to be rewarded for his good behaviour. That, and Eridan simply did not have enough hours in the night to do it himself, but it still had to get done and Castor was the only one he trusted to do it right.

He’d expected Castor would be happy that Eridan was giving him more important things to do, but apparently that had been naive of him.

“So you’ve decided you don’t want to work with the Palace database after all?” Eridan asked him.

Castor drew in a sharp breath, and if anything the heat of anger in his eyes increased. “Oh, I see how it is. You dangle the fucking prize in front of me just out of reach, and see how much I’m willing to grovel and debase myself to get it? Fuck. You. I bet you never intended to let me work on that project at all.”

“I most certainly did, and I’ll thank you not to doubt my given word, piss-blood,” Eridan snapped at him. “And I still have no idea what you’re flipperin out about.”

“You want me to go through this sweep’s adolescent psychic tests and compile the names of everyone the Palace should hunt down, and you can't think of any reason why I might be upset about it?" Castor fairly growled. He clenched his hand on the sheet, crushing it in his fist. "Not one thought occurs to you about why I would object to sending my own people into slavery?"

"Oh, don't tell me you buy into that carp," Eridan said. He was obscurely disappointed - he'd expected Castor to be too intelligent to believe the anti-Imperial propaganda and urban legends that most low-bloods seemed to love to spread around, he realized. "Nobody's sendin anybody into slavery. Those psychics get treated like upright royalty. I'll never understand why people aren't lining up for the tests, hopin to have some trace of a gift so they can qualify for status!"

"Maybe because they're being ripped away from their friends and quadrants in order to be brainwashed into eternal servitude to the throne," Castor retorted incredulously. "No, I totally can't imagine why we're not eager to be subjected to that."

"That's a load of whale shit, and I expected you to know better," Eridan huffed. "I'm tellin you, they're valuable crown resources and they're treated like the treasures they are! Most of 'em live way better than their blood colour would give them any right to. So what if they don't have a choice about working for the throne? Neither does any other troll drafted by the Palace, and that's a lot more likely to happen to high-bloods!"

"I do know better," Castor replied grimly. "I know better than to believe the pretty lies the Palace tells us about how wonderful our lives will be if it turns out we're psychic. You take _adolescent_ trolls from their hives without warning, without any chance to understand what's going on or say goodbye to anyone, and then they're never seen again. And you wonder why we're terrified of it?"

"Nobody is fuckin spirited away in the dead of the day, piss-blood," Eridan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "That's just an old lusus' tale."

"They took my _moirail_ ," Castor hissed at him. "Don't tell me it doesn't happen, because I know it does!"

"What?" Thrown off by both the rancour and the information, Eridan stared at him. "What do you mean, they took your moirail? 'Recruited' maybe, but..."

"They _took_ her," Castor insisted. "She could see the future - a little bit, sometimes. When we were seven she told me one night that they were coming for her, that she was scared that she would never see me again. I told her not to worry, that it was 'just a stupid old lusus' tale'," he mocked Eridan's words bitterly. "And then suddenly the next night she wouldn't answer my trolls. When I went to her hive there was _nothing left_ , and I've never. Heard from her. Since."

"Wwell, that's just..." Eridan winced as he heard his own voice, the slip of his accent betraying the fact that he was disturbed. He cleared his throat and tried again. "The drones always clear unoccupied hives, to make room for the next batch of wrigglers. And maybe she was just too busy gettin trained to message you."

The argument was weak and he knew it. Nobody would just abandon their moirail like that. Unless... "Maybe it was just her way of lettin you down easy once she could do better for herself, ever think of that?" he added snidely.

Castor narrowed his eyes, and for a split second Eridan thought the low-blood might actually throw a punch at him. He braced himself, but Castor only took another deep breath and looked away. "She wouldn't have done that to me," he said, softly but firmly. "I know she wouldn't. Half the reason I worked so hard to get drafted by the Palace was because I hoped I'd be able to find her someday, if she's even still alive."

"All right," Eridan said, abruptly swinging to his computer terminal and pulling up a menu. "What's her name?"

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna prove to you that there's nothin untoward going on," Eridan said. "I'll find her for you, and you can talk to her yourself and I'm sure she'll tell you exactly the same things I've been sayin."

Castor stared at him, and he looked like he was torn between wary disbelief and painful hope. Actually his expression was a pretty close match for the one Eridan imagined had been on his face when he'd first seen Castor's application. "Sybele," he finally said hoarsely. "Sybele Asndra. I _have_ tried just looking her up, you know."

"You don't have my clearance level, obviously. Profiles for the psychics are highly classified, for their protection," Eridan told him as he initiated the search. The results came up quickly, and he blinked at the profile picture of a completely unfamiliar troll. He'd half expected her to be Aradia's Descendent. He spun the monitor to face Castor, smirking. "She works right here in the Land Embassy, and she makes more than you do despite the fact that she's a brown-blood. And despite the fact that her psychic scores are so low she barely qualifies."

His smug satisfaction slipped a little when he saw the way Castor grabbed at the screen, eyes frantically scanning the data. It was obvious that Castor had truly been worried for her, no matter how unfounded those concerns were.

To his shock he felt a surge of pity for the low-blood. It _would_ be terrifying to live thinking that at any moment the drones could come to snatch you away from everything that mattered to you. If Feferi just disappeared one day - aside from the massive upheaval that losing Her Imperial Condescension would cause - Eridan knew he would tear himself apart worrying about her.

Pushing away from the desk, he stood and headed for the door. When he had his hand on the knob and Castor still hadn't moved, he looked back over his shoulder with a sigh that was only slightly exaggerated. "Well? Are you comin or not, piss-blood?"

"Coming?" Castor repeated, looking up at him in confusion. "Coming where? I'm still not cleared to help you with the investigation."

"Yeah, but that's not where I'm going," Eridan said, rolling his eyes. "Or do you not wanna talk to her after all? You're not gonna be able to see her without me along, you know. They don't let just anybody into the psychic quarters."

Castor blinked twice at him in apparent incomprehension, before realization dawned visibly on his face. "You're... you'll help me get to her?" he said, his voice trembling slightly.

"I said I was gonna get to the bottom a this and prove that you're wrong," Eridan replied, snapping his fingers and pointing behind him. Castor obediently fell into place at his heels as they left the office. "Just showin you the profile don't prove nothing."

"Thank you," Castor said, his voice soft and a little choked. "This means a lot to me, so... thank you."

Eridan didn't look back at him, graciously pretending not to notice his moment of vulnerability. That trickle of pity in his chest was growing, and he didn't really see any way to stop it. The low-blood was just so damned pathetic and helpless, totally in Eridan's power.

Fuck, was _this_ why Sollux had predicted that Eridan would still never get the best of Castor? Because Eridan wasn't meant to hate his Descendent at all? In some ways the idea of having Castor as a matesprit rather than a kismesis made a great deal more sense, given the severe imbalance of power between them. And in all honesty, Eridan had no real reason to hate Castor. The low-blood hadn't taken Feferi from him, hadn't mocked him incessantly through the entirety of the most important and stressful period in his life.

The trick was still getting Castor to think of him that way, though. And Eridan had always had difficulty with redrom, even though in his opinion he was pretty damned pitiable. He'd have to think about it, really consider what tactics he could take, maybe feelings jam with Feferi about it when she finally got here. She'd pitied Sollux, so she'd understand better what sort of approaches worked with him.

Lost in contemplation of his quadrants, Eridan barely noticed the increasing levels of security they were going through until Castor muttered, "Yeah, they're not prisoners or anything. Just so valuable you lock them away, 'for their own good', I'm sure."

"It _is_ for their own good, as a matter of fact," Eridan retorted. "There've been attempts in the past by insurgents to take out the psychics, since they're our most powerful weapon. It's not like we keep them chained up in cells, they've got an entire wing of the Embassy and enclosed courtyard."

"Can they leave if they want to?" Castor countered. "What if they have non-psychic quadrants, how are they ever supposed to see them?"

"Their quadrants would be given clearance, obviously," Eridan said. He forced himself to sound firm, but the truth was that he was actually assuming that was the case. But it didn't make any sense otherwise, right? Most of them probably preferred to have relationships among each other, because how could a non-psychic ever truly understand their lives? But probably some of them did have outside relationships.

Not that they ever met any non-psychics to form quadrants with, except for the staff who served them. Well, they could talk to people on trollian and such, he supposed. Though that did again raise the question of why Castor's moirail had never at least told him she was okay.

There had to be a logical explanation for it. Eridan knew better than anybody why Feferi was so insistent on making certain the psychics were treated well, despite the way many high-bloods had grumbled about the increased taxes to support the expense. Sollux's last warning to her had stuck with both of them, and he knew she'd taken it firmly to heart.

Besides, she'd have made certain they weren't abused just out of loving memory of Sollux, Eridan was pretty sure.

Someone hurried over towards them - a blue-blood, judging by his symbol. "Your Grand Disdain! It's rare to see you on our side of the complex. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm lookin for someone," Eridan said. "A brown-blood name a Sybele Asndra, she's a Seer."

The blue-blood blinked, clearly taken aback. "Has there been a problem? Is she suspected in the recent attack?"

"No, no, nothin like that," Eridan said, waving off the idea. "I just need to talk to her. Is she available, and is there somewhere we can speak in private?"

"Yes, of course," the blue-blood said, though he still looked confused. "Please, use my office, I'll see if she's free."

Eridan nodded and let the blue-blood lead the way to the office, where he settled into the chair behind the desk and gestured for Castor to stand behind him.

Castor was doing a fairly good job of keeping his expression neutral, but Eridan could see the extreme tension in the set of his shoulders and the little crease between his eyes. If he didn't have a migraine yet, he would soon - assuming he got them at all, Eridan reminded himself. Though, hadn't Castor mentioned something about his 'mutant brain' when they'd been arguing about his job? Since he didn't have visions or hear the screams of the soon-to-be-deceased, Eridan didn't know how else he would know there was anything strange about his brain.

"You'd better fuckin appreciate this," he told Castor, a little smugly. "I expect a full fuckin apology when it turns out you're wrong about how we treat psychics, thank you very much. There are so many fuckin things I should be doin right now that are more important than this."

"I do appreciate that, Disdainful," Castor said, his voice tight. His eyes were fixed on the doorway, like he thought if he blinked or looked away he would miss seeing her entirely. "Believe me, if it turns out I'm wrong I will be happy to go down on my damned knees and beg your forgiveness. I just hope I have to."

Before Eridan could answer, the door opened again and the blue-blood escorted in the same brown-blood girl Eridan had seen in the profile picture. Not that he'd really paid enough attention to remember her face, but she was rather distinctive because one of her horns was broken near the base. She looked nervous, almost terrified, and her gaze locked onto Eridan the moment she entered the room. "D-disdainful?" she stammered, curtseying awkwardly. "You called for me?"

Eridan waved the blue-blood out, and he bowed and shut the door behind him. That didn't seem to set the brown-blood at ease, and she still hadn't so much as looked at Castor. Well, maybe she didn't recognize him, if they hadn't seen each other since they were seven.

Right, because so many trolls had double horns and fangs. For the first time, Eridan felt a hint of unease.

"Relax, you ain't in any trouble," he said. "I'm not actually the one who wanted to speak to you. Go ahead and pretend I ain't even here." Leaning back in the chair, Eridan crossed his arms and waited for Castor to speak.

"Sybele..." Castor breathed out, like he could hardly say the name for fear she would disappear or something. "Oh fuck, it's really you. I've been looking for you for so long."

"I'm sorry?" she said, clearly startled as she looked at Castor. "Do I know you?"

Eridan frowned. This wasn't at all how the conversation was supposed to go. Could she be pretending not to recognize him to avoid the awkwardness of admitting that she'd dumped him so rudely? That was possible, though rather bitchy of her, he had to say.

Castor made a distressed noise in the back of his throat, almost a keen. "Sybele... it's me, it's Castor," he said urgently. "Your _moirail_. Don't you remember me?"

"Moirail!" She flushed a rather disgusting shade of greyish-brown, and stared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have a moirail, he's one of the other psychics here. I've never seen you before in my life."

For a moment Castor just stared back at her, clearly struggling to find something to say. "Sysy, how did you break your horn?" he finally asked hoarsely.

"Huh? Oh... I don't know," she said, but a flash of unease went through her eyes. "I was playing around with a friend, I think. It was so long ago, I don't remember. Why in the galaxy would you ask that?" She rubbed at her temple, as if she was suddenly developing a headache.

"Because I was _there_ , I was the one who broke it," he said. "I hit you when I came around a corner too fast, remember? You knocked out some of my fangs, that was when I first discovered they were the reason I lisped, but they grew back."

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I really think you have me confused with someone else. Isn't it strange that we'd both have broken horns," she added, laughing. "I hope you find her, it sounds like she means a lot to you. Um, was there anything else you needed from me, Disdainful? I have a dreadful headache, I think it might be a vision coming on, I should probably go lie down if that's okay."

Feeling sick to his stomach, Eridan waved her off. "No, that wwas all," he said. "Go on, but tell that blue-blood not to interrupt us just yet. I'll let him knoww wwhen I don't need the office anymore."

"Yes, Disdainful," she said, curtseying again. As she left she gave Castor an awkward, slightly uneasy smile, which turned into a grimace as she rubbed at her temple again.

"You saw that, right?" Castor asked urgently the moment the door was closed behind her. "You saw the way she reacted when I asked about her horn. She almost remembered for a second, I'm sure of it."

"Are you shore that's the same troll? Yes, I knoww it's a stupid question, I gotta ask it anywway," Eridan added when Castor opened his mouth with a scowl.

"I'm sure," Castor insisted quietly. "I'm one hundred percent sure. Not only does she have the same broken horn, she's got a little scar on her left eyebrow that's left over from her grub trials. It's her. And she doesn't remember me at all, she wasn't faking it."

"No, I don't think she wwas," Eridan agreed, highly disturbed. "There's definitely somethin fishy goin on here, and it stinks."

How was it possible that Castor was right? Could it be that it was just this one troll, that she'd gotten amnesia or something? That would be a fucking huge coincidence, and Eridan had learned not to believe in coincidence. But how could this be going on right under his and Feferi's noses?


	4. A Startling Similarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, guys. I've sort of unexpectedly ended up moving to a different city, and it's eating all my spare time. I'll try to get the next chapters out a little more quickly.

Eridan allowed himself a full minute of horrified contemplation, analyzing all the many and varied ways in which this discovery meant the Empire was fucked. Then he gave himself an extra thirty seconds to actually freak the fuck out, because he thought he deserved it.

With that out of his system he reined himself back in firmly. There was work to be done and obviously nobody else was going to step up and do it. Story of his fucking life, at least for the last few hundred sweeps. It was going to be long nights and longer days for him for a while, but he didn't dare shove this off onto someone else.

Even without Sollux's last warning to Feferi he'd have known that this wasn't just a minor glitch in the system. Bad enough that the psychics were apparently being spirited away, terrifying the lower classes - and small wonder the low-blood revolution was still going and even gaining strength, if this was a sample of what was provoking them. Much worse was the fact that someone was actually tampering with the psychics' minds, erasing their memories and doing who knew what besides. Implanting assassination programs, for all he knew.

Pushing the chair away from the desk, he stood and looked over at Castor. The low-blood had his hands braced against the desk and his head bowed, eyes closed. He'd bitten his lip so hard there was a trickle of mustard-yellow trailing down from the spot where his fang had dug into the flesh. He was trembling, but although it might have been reasonable to believe the shaking was due to grief, Eridan had a sneaking suspicion that it was actually anger.

And Eridan couldn't blame him in the least. For once he was grateful that Castor _didn't_ have Sollux's powers, because Sollux probably would have started blasting things at least five minutes ago.

Well, that and because if Castor had powers, _he'd_ have been snatched up and brainwashed too, and Eridan would never even have known that he existed.

"Don't say anyfin," Eridan commanded him, keeping his voice low. Sure enough when Castor looked up, although there were traces of yellow tears in the corners of his eyes, the predominant emotion he was showing was rage. Eridan held up a hand before the low-blood could say anything. "Just come wwith me. Don't talk here, it's not secure."

Castor's eyes narrowed, and he searched Eridan's face as if trying to reach inside his mind to see his soul. Whatever he saw there seemed to reassure him, because he nodded and straightened, falling into place behind Eridan without another word.

They made their way back through the halls to the other side of the Embassy in silence. Instead of turning towards his office, Eridan went in the other direction, ignoring the muffled sound of surprise Castor made. They headed down a set of spiralling marble stairs, and shortly they were in a part of the Embassy most land-dwellers would never see... the personal quarters of the sea-dwelling nobility that ran the place.

At that point Eridan stopped, looking around quickly to make certain there was nobody in sight. Only a handful of sea-dwellers lived here, since most preferred to make the commute to the nearby underwater city. Of those few, all of them should be hard at work, but it never paid to take chances.

Satisfied that they wouldn't be overheard, he finally turned to Castor. "You told me your first day that you could crack the Imperial database," he said bluntly. "Were you serious? Or just shootin air through your blowhole?"

Once again Castor was just staring at him, maybe trying to divine Eridan's intentions. "Not with just my husktop," he said after a long moment. "Probably not with any computer set-up you've got in the Embassy, considering the shitty quality of most of your equipment."

"But with the right equipment, you could do it?" Eridan persisted. Castor nodded, and Eridan blew out a long breath. "Okay. Next question. Do you trust me?"

"Trust you to what?" Castor immediately replied, clearly suspicious.

"To not kill you for having discovered this," Eridan replied. "The Embassy's on high alert after the attack on the Sea Dock, what with the Condesce due to arrive again tonight. That means they've flooded the access to the sea-dweller quarters, as a security measure to give us a safe retreat from land-dwellers if necessary. I could requisition an airtank for you, but it would draw attention. I _can_ get you across before you drown, but it'll be a near thing and you gotta trust me and not fight me."

"Let you pull me underwater until I _almost_ drown, and trust that you won't take the convenient excuse that you didn't realize land-dwellers can't hold their breath all that long?" Castor asked sceptically. "And if I do survive, I'll be fucking trapped in your personal quarters with no way to get out by myself? After I just _proved_ that the entire fucking psychic 'recruitment' system is more corrupt than a server full of malware?"

"Yeah, exactly that," Eridan agreed, unfazed by the recitation of all the reasons Castor would be a fool to trust him. "I've got the computer system you need to get answers for both of us, but we can't afford to draw any more attention than we already have."

"Okay, first of all I doubt that," Castor said, frowning. "Maybe you _think_ you've got a good system, but..."

"I told the head of the technical department that whatever he installed for me, he could order a second one for himself and call it a bonus," Eridan interrupted him. He was smart enough to know that he couldn't trust his underlings to give him a good system just because he told them to, and even though it wasn't like he could _use_ all that computing power for anything, it was a habit he'd gotten into when Sollux had been his kismesis and he'd just never gotten out of it.

Having a 'half decent' computer available had sometimes coaxed Sollux into actually spending some time with him, during the periods when their relationship had been less actively acrimonious and more about enjoying the challenge of trying to constantly one-up each other.

"Well... maybe it'll be workable, then," Castor grudgingly acknowledged. "That still doesn't answer the question of _why_ you'd go to all this trouble. Sneaking me into your room so I can _hack the database_?"

"Whatever's goin on with the psychics, it's been happening right in front of our fins," Eridan said grimly. "Just askin through normal channels ain't gonna get me any real answers. We need to find out who's behind this, what exactly they're doin, and most importantly, how long it's been goin on and how deep the damage goes."

"But _why_?" Castor insisted. "Why the fuck do you care? It's just a bunch of 'useless low-bloods', isn't it? Nobody higher than a green-blood ever gets taken like that. You've never shown any evidence of giving a squeakbeast's ass about anyone below at least blue-blood, and I'm not even sure about them. Why the big fuss, all of a sudden?"

"Excuse me, I care plenty about the well-bein of the low-bloods under my supervision," Eridan said, affronted. He drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at Castor, who only glared right back at him. "I'm the fuckin Grand Disdain of Land-dweller affairs, it's my fuckin _job_ to care."

"Do you even know your other assistant's name?" Castor countered. "I've never yet heard you refer to her as anything other than 'teal-blood. Sometimes 'hey, useless!' for variety, maybe. You don't even grant me the dignity of just calling me 'yellow-blood', it's either 'low-blood' or ' _piss_ -blood'. You certainly don't know _my_ name, you keep calling me 'Sol' for some reason!"

Eridan felt himself flush, even as he tried hard to pretend that the words hadn't hit home. "Fuck, I go through assistants so fuckin fast it's not wworth tryin to remember their names, is all," he muttered, hoping he didn't sound as sulky as he thought he did. "It's got nothin to do wwith their blood-colour."

"Uh-huh. Gee, I wonder why you can't hang onto an assistant, when you treat us all with such respect and care," Castor said, rolling his eyes.

"My vvery first kismesis wwas a yellow-blood, I'll havve you knoww," Eridan retorted, stung. "And a psychic, for that matter. He's still the best kismesis I evver had. I got plenty a respect for the lowwer classes, they just can't seem to be bothered to respect me!"

That seemed to surprise Castor, at least. He frowned and bit his lip again, some of the anger draining from his expression.

Hastily Eridan plunged into the opening. "Anywway, howwevver I might treat the indivvidual lower-bloods that wwork for me, that don't mean I ain't concerned about someone upright _subvvertin_ our psychics! If they're bein brainwwashed to turn against us, I gotta knoww howw and by wwho! Right noww, you're my best bet a gettin that information without tippin my hand and alertin wwhoevver it is that I'vve caught on. Understand?"

"I'll believe that you apparently had no idea this shit was going on," Castor said, shaking his head. "But do you really think that this is the work of some hidden subversive? That somehow somebody's managed to circumvent the whole system and start kidnapping and brainwashing psychics without anybody in charge _noticing_?"

"Has to be," Eridan insisted. "You don't understand howw serious this situation is. Fef wwould swwim in circles to make sure the psychics got treated wwell. My kismesis wwas her first matesprit, and she still grievves ovver him. He wwas a Seer, an' he wwarned her to make sure the psychics were loyal to her, or it wwould be the fall of her reign." Castor looked startled, and Eridan nodded. "So you can see wwhy I'd be upright anxious, findin out somefin like this."

"I'd heard the stories that the first Imperial Consort was a yellow-blood, but I didn't really believe it," Castor said, subdued. "I thought it was just a pretty story they told us to make us believe that the Condesce really does have our best interests at heart, and all that shit."

"It's true," Eridan said, and he let some of the grief _he_ still felt show in his voice. It wasn't hard to do, when he was looking straight at Sollux's spitting image. "She pitied him more than anyfin. But you still nevver answered my question, _Castor_." Castor jumped slightly at the sound of his name, and Eridan managed a tiny smile. "Do you trust me?"

"I am out of my fucking think pan," Castor breathed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he looked up his expression was wary, but firm. "Yeah, okay. Do what you have to do, I won't fight you. I just hope this precious computer system of yours is actually worth the damned trip."

Getting Castor across the water-filled access and into his quarters wasn't easy, and Castor very nearly _did_ drown. When they hit air again he was coughing so hard from inhaled water that Eridan was half afraid he would never stop, but by the time they climbed up onto the drying platform he was starting to settle down.

Once the dryers had gotten most of the water out of their clothes and hair, Eridan generously let Castor use the towel that was waiting on the warming rack, and chose one of the unheated towels from the stack for himself. Castor needed it, he was shivering even though the water hadn't been all _that_ cold. But, Eridan reminded himself, low-bloods had higher body temperatures. Sollux had always claimed that the seawater was freezing, too, whenever Eridan had managed to coax him to swim.

Or, more accurately, whenever he'd managed to catch the psychic off guard enough to dump him into the water so he could watch Sollux flounder. He was pretty sure even Feferi had never managed to drag Sollux any deeper than knee-level _willingly_.

"Do I really have to go through that again to get out of here?" Castor asked miserably, still coughing occasionally as he shuffled along behind Eridan into the main rooms.

"Unless you wanna wait until the security alert goes down and they drain the corridors again, yeah," Eridan said, shrugging. "Which won't be until Fef's visit is over, and she said she was stayin a while this time. I'll find a way to get an airtank for you, though, don't worry."

The obvious relief on Castor's face was pretty funny, but Eridan managed to contain himself to a chuckle or two in reaction. It still made Castor roll his eyes, but at least the low-blood didn't seem to be actively angry at him anymore.

"Computer's over there," Eridan said, pointing at the large desk that had been set up to hold all of the complicated system the tech supervisor had built for him. Judging by the sheer volume and number of pieces, at least, it had to be _somewhat_ impressive.

Castor looked sceptical, but he sat at the chair and booted the system up. The moment the screen cleared he gasped and went pale, and Eridan kicked himself for forgetting just what his desktop was set to show by default.

Quickly he hurried to stand behind Castor, but it was too late to undo the damage. The picture he'd chosen as a background had been taken about a sweep and a half after the game had ended and they'd returned to their restored world. Eridan couldn't remember who had actually taken the shot - Karkat, maybe. Sollux stood with one arm over Feferi's shoulders and her arm around his waist, the two of them snugged up tight, but he was frowning and his attention was on Eridan, who stood just out of reach on his other side. Eridan was smirking back at him, happy with whatever verbal sting he'd managed to land.

For a long time he hadn't liked this picture, because it showed Feferi's flushed feelings for Sollux so clearly, but after the death of his kismesis Eridan had come to cherish it as one of his favourites. Once it no longer hurt to see the two of them together like that, it became a perfect snapshot of the two people who'd been most important to him.

"What... how..." Castor stammered, and he sounded almost _terrified_. "But I didn't know you when I was a kid! How could this... have they fucking wiped _my_ mind? _When_?"

Belatedly Eridan understood just what had upset the low-blood so much, and he kicked himself for not realizing how it would look in light of their recent discoveries. "Do I need to send you back to schoolfeeding like a little wriggler?" Eridan said, but there wasn't as much bite in his words as he'd meant there to be. That damned niggling feeling of pity was back. "Do the math. I'm in my sixth fuckin century."

"What... oh. Of course, we can't have been adolescents at the same time," Castor realized, smacking himself. "Then... what is this? A photo manip? Fuck, first you look up my adolescent files, and now..." He gave Eridan a wary and slightly nervous look.

"Excuse me, I'm not some fuckin sicko stalkin you, piss-blood," Eridan retorted. "That's not _you_. Look closer, at his eyes."

Castor looked again, and his yellow eyes widened. "What..."

"His name was Sollux," Eridan said softly, and he couldn't quite stop his voice from going high as his windtube closed slightly. "Probably one of the most powerful psionics ever hatched, if not _the_ most powerful. Certainly the best computer programmer of our generation, and several generations afterwards. Our theory, Fef's and mine, is that you're his Descendant."

"You mean the stupid stories about Ancestors are _true_?" Castor breathed out, staring at the picture in disbelief. "Fuck, he's even got my horns, and the fucking _fangs_..."

"Yeah, he's the one I knew that lisped," Eridan confirmed. "Near as I can tell, you're upright identical, save you ain't got his powers."

" _That's_ why you keep calling me 'Sol'," Castor said. "And why you hired me in the first place..."

"It's why I gave you a chance," Eridan agreed. "You proved yourself on your own merits, after that. I won't deny it's why I kept you as my assistant instead a sendin you straight to the techies, though."

"It's also why you keep treating me like trash, isn't it," Castor said, narrowing his eyes at Eridan. "Because you were trying to get me to hate you. I'm _not him_. I'm my own damned troll, thank you very much. Ancestor or not, just because he was your kismesis doesn't mean I have to be."

"I know," Eridan acknowledged. He figured it probably wasn't prudent to mention that he'd decided Castor was fated to be his matesprit instead. Let that come on its own in time, when Castor was ready to hear it. "Fef keeps remindin me a that, too. It's partly habit, I guess. And partly just that I like it that you've actually got the fins to stand up to me," he added with a half smirk.

Castor barked a laugh, brief and incredulous. "You asshole, everyone around you is so terrified of pissing you off, and you're just pushing them to see if any of them will fight back."

"Pretty much. Don't see why I should have any use for a bunch a spineless jellyfish," Eridan admitted, shrugging. "Which ain't to say you can get away with _anyfin_ , mind. I still expect you to know your place."

"Well, right now my place is supposed to be seeing if we can get this computer to do what I need it to in such a way that I won't get caught doing it," Castor said firmly, making a shooing motion at him. "Go find something else to do, so I can concentrate. Better yet, go back to work. The less you deviate from your normal routine, the less likely anyone will realize we're up to something. And you still have a rebel attack to clean up."

Already Castor was almost completely focused on the screen, his hands flying over the keyboard. Eridan recognized the signs of a dedicated programmer settling in for a long stint, and he headed out of his quarters without bothering to respond. Castor probably wouldn't hear it even if he did, the geek.

Despite Castor's protests that he and Sollux were different people - and they were, Eridan knew that, even if he had to remind himself sometimes - the similarities between them really were amazing.

* * *

Getting a rebreather without arousing suspicion proved easier than Eridan had expected. An offhand comment that his assistant would be working after hours at his private office earned him a knowing smirk from the official in Supply, and an air unit. He felt a little guilty, both for the fact that he apparently hadn't needed to torture Castor, and for the damage the yellow-blood's reputation had just taken.

Granted, if Eridan had anything to say about it, Castor _would_ eventually be pailing his boss, but it wasn't happening yet and it wasn't the reason Eridan had hired him. Not the only reason, anyway.

Well, they all had to make sacrifices. Probably everyone was already whispering about the two of them behind their hands.

He returned to find Castor still firmly attached to the keyboard, but the low-blood roused slightly and quickly glanced around when Eridan cleared his throat. "Any luck?" Eridan asked when he saw he had Castor's attention.

"Yeah, this isn't a half bad system," Castor admitted only a little grudgingly. "Not how I'd have set it up, but workable. I've been doing test runs to make sure I understand how it's all put together, against systems with a lot less security than the Imperial database, but I'm about ready to start for real."

"Eat somefin first," Eridan ordered him. "And get up and stretch."

"What are you, my lusus now?" Castor asked, rolling his eyes. He did stand and stretch, and winced as the vertebrae in his spine fell back into place with an audible series of crackles.

Eridan laughed at the sound. "No, just too fuckin familiar with how an upright geek like you operates," he taunted Castor in return. "I got you an air tank, and cleared you to come and go as you please for now. I'm gonna go crash, unless you need me?"

Castor waved him off, which Eridan interpreted as 'don't bug me while I'm working', so he retreated to the innermost room. Unlike most sea trolls he didn't like to sleep underwater, so his recuperacoon wasn't in a sunken pool. He climbed into it and let the sopor soak into his skin, trying not to think about the fact that the troll he wanted so badly was just a dozen or so feet away.

It wasn't that hard to distract himself - he'd had a bad shock today, and the implications still disturbed him. Feferi had finally arrived safely, but he hadn't discussed the issue with her yet. He knew how much it was going to upset her to find out the psychics were being mistreated, and if at all possible he wanted to present it to her with the problem already solved. Or at least well on its way to a solution.

It was a shame this whole mess had surfaced right at this moment. Eridan had really been looking forward to introducing Feferi and Castor and watching both their reactions. Now it would be overshadowed by this much more serious situation.

At least he'd be able to show Castor that Feferi truly did care about the low-bloods. Eridan fell asleep with a smile on his face, imagining how good it was going to feel to have both Feferi and Castor together with him.

* * *

The next evening Eridan woke to find Castor fully immersed in the computer system - pretty much exactly as Eridan had expected. There were dark smudges under the low-blood's eyes, but he still seemed alert enough, fingers flying over the keyboard and eyes flitting from screen to screen, following code flowing by too fast for Eridan to even read it.

The empty mug next to Castor's left hand probably had something to do with his alertness. Eridan confirmed it when he picked it up and sniffed at the dregs. It was a powerful stimulant mix Eridan had pre-programmed into his food synthesizer for his own long nights spent hard at work. It didn't surprise him that Castor had found it. Sollux had always had an uncanny ability to sniff out stimulants, too.

He took the mug into the tiny kitchen and refilled it with fresh, steaming liquid. There was no sign that Castor had eaten as commanded, which was a shame because the stimulant didn't sit well on an empty stomach, but it wouldn't kill him. Eridan placed the mug back where he'd found it, and was amused when Castor promptly grabbed for it without even looking up.

Too damned similar by half.

Having provisioned the hacker as best he could, there was nothing more for Eridan to do. He had no intention of wasting the night standing around watching Castor work, and anyway he had a full schedule of his own.

Despite the lack of interaction and the mess they were in, Eridan left his area feeling surprisingly content. It felt good to know that Castor would be there when he got back. Eridan had had plenty of matesprits and kismeses, but not since Sollux had he invited someone into his personal space for longer than it took to fill a pail. He hadn't realized that he'd missed the intimacy of it.

Of course, with Feferi in residence, the entire Embassy was utter chaos. Everything took five times as long as it should have, and Eridan ended up staying at his desk long after the sun came up, dealing with one administrative emergency after another. Not having Castor to delegate small tasks to made Eridan appreciate just how much the low-blood really did, and his secondary assistant was in tears by the end of the night. He didn't even get a chance to spend any time with Feferi, which made him rather grumpy.

By the time he finally dragged himself back to his quarters, he was completely exhausted. He half expected to return to find Castor already gone, but wasn't really surprised to discover him slumped over the desk instead. Castor's head was pillowed on one arm, hiding his face, and his other hand was still on the mouse. The screens were blank save for the blinking cursor - and a string of repeated letters on one monitor that covered the whole screen, probably due to the way one of Castor's horns was pressed against the keyboard.

Eridan had to stop for a moment, overwhelmed by nostalgia and grief. With his eyes closed Castor looked exactly like Sollux, and the scene was so familiar it made Eridan's vascular pump go haywire.

Swallowing hard, he turned to tiptoe into the kitchen, and quickly made up a cup of grub noodle soup. Nutritious but easy to eat and digest, it had always been Sollux's preferred 'post-crash' food. Only when it was ready did he move back to the main room and call out. "Sol... Castor," he corrected himself hastily. "Cas, wwake up. C'mon, Cas."

He shoved the steaming cup of soup towards Castor's arm close to his face, careful not to actually touch him. They weren't matesprits yet; Castor didn't trust him enough for Eridan to be safe touching him in his sleep when Castor didn't even know he was there. After a moment Castor huffed a soft chirp, and lifted one hand to wave limply at the mug as if trying to push it away. "Not hungry," he mumbled, the words barely comprehensible.

"I don't fuckin care, you're eatin if I have to pour it dowwn your throat," Eridan insisted, trying to sound exasperated instead of amused. "Wwake up, Cas. You knoww you'll be wworse off if you don't eat."

"Would you stop fucking treating me like I'm your long-lost kismesis?" Castor grumbled, pushing himself slowly up. When he turned to glare blearily up at Eridan, for a moment memory or some trick of the light made his eyes seem to glow faintly red and blue.

Eridan's breath caught, but then Castor yawned and rubbed at his eyes and when he opened them again, they were the normal two-toned yellow.

"Am I wwrong?" Eridan asked when he'd recovered, pushing the mug at him again.

"No," Castor admitted grudgingly, and took the mug. He drained it in three quick gulps, then stared into the empty cup as if startled that it had vanished on him. Eridan had to stifle a snort.

"You're wwrecked, and it's wway too late for you to go back to your hivve," Eridan said. "You can sleep in my 'coon for today."

"I shouldn't," Castor muttered around another yawn. "Fuck, I've already missed... two? three?... doses of my meds. I need to get home so I can take some."

Meds? Eridan wasn't quite rude enough to ask what they were for, and anyway he thought he had a pretty good guess. Overall Castor seemed a lot more stable and less moody than Sollux, but maybe unlike his Ancestor he'd found something that actually worked to control his bi-polar tendencies. "Is it gonna kill you to miss one more?" he asked, just to be sure.

"Not really, it's just going to make my life unpleasant and give me a raging headache tomorrow, probably. Don't you want to know what I found, though?" Castor squinted up at him curiously.

"It's kept for this long, it can wwait for evvening," Eridan insisted. "I'd rather hear it wwhen you're coherent. C'mon."

This time when he gestured, Castor pushed himself up out of the chair with a low warble. Despite protests that he was fine, he did end up leaning heavily on Eridan by the time they'd stumbled together to the recuperacoon.

"Wwait, hold up," he exclaimed when Castor made as if to climb in fully clothed.

"Would you make up your mind?" Castor demanded sleepily.

"I'm not changin my mind, just thinkin you might not wwanna havve to wwalk outta here tomorroww wwearin somefin wwith my symbol on it," Eridan pointed out. "Not that people ain't already talkin, but that'd confirm the rumours pretty damned fast."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Castor stripped off his shirt readily enough, but paused with his hands on his pants to give Eridan a nervous look.

"I'm not plannin to fuckin jump you in your sleep, piss-blood," Eridan snapped, hurt and insulted by the suspicion. He was exhausted too, and here he was being upright _nice_ and letting Castor thoroughly invade his personal space, only to be rewarded with a look like Castor thought his honour was in danger.

Still Castor didn't push the pants down, fidgeting for a moment and blushing hard. "Uh... so, I know this supposed Ancestor of mine had my horns and fangs... was anything else, uh, doubled?" he finally asked.

Oh. _Oh_. Now Eridan understood the hesitation, and felt bad for misunderstanding. "You ain't got anyfin I ain't seen before," he said gruffly, blushing a little himself. For good measure, he turned his back, and waited until he heard the slopping of sopor against the sides before he turned around again.

Castor was half covered and settling in, eyes already closed, Eridan noted with a feeling almost like fondness. Quickly he scooped up the discarded clothes, which were already in fairly poor shape after being worn for two straight nights. He tossed them in the automatic wash so they'd be clean for the next night. Otherwise Castor might _still_ have to wear Eridan's clothes to leave.

With that done, Eridan finally stripped off his own clothes and climbed into the recuperacoon, more than ready to settle down next to his hopefully-soon-to-be-concupiscent quadrantmate for a good day's rest.

To his surprise, although Castor was sound asleep, he wasn't sleeping soundly. He was frowning, occasionally tossing his head, and once he even whimpered softly. Eridan stared in astonishment.

Diurnal delusions? Castor suffered from daymares?

Sollux had, too - in fact, one of the reasons he'd rarely stayed with Eridan was because he required twice the normal amount of sopor to be able to sleep peacefully, and even more than that if he was sharing the 'coon. But that had been entirely due to his mutant brain, Eridan knew. It was Sollux's vision twofold and the screaming of the soon-to-be-dead that disturbed his sleep. Without those powers, Castor shouldn't have suffered the same problem.

With a shaking hand, Eridan reached out and gently pressed one fingertip against Castor's eyelid, lifting it the barest fraction. The blue glow beneath was faint, but definitely visible and completely unmistakable as the mark of the vision twofold.

Hastily Eridan withdrew before he woke Castor, swallowing hard. Was Castor _just now_ manifesting his powers? That would be the most massive coincidence in the cosmos, straining credulity.

No, wait. The main reason Sollux had refused to take anything for his bi-polar was because the medication _interfered with his powers_. While he wouldn't have minded losing the screaming voices or even his vision twofold, he hadn't thought it was worth the price of also losing his telekinesis.

Breathless, Eridan slumped against the side of the 'coon, staring at Castor in a stupor. If Castor had manifested his powers unusually late and his bi-polar had been caught and treated early, it was possible that the medication would have suppressed his powers to the point that the tests for psychics wouldn't catch him. He might not even know himself that he had them.

Eridan wasn't sure whether to be thrilled or horrified. On the one hand, it was the final confirmation that Castor truly was Sollux's Descendent, identical to him in every way. Having a psychic that powerful backing the throne again was an unanticipated but highly appreciated bonus. And it meant, if they did go down the black path, that Castor would easily be able to hold his own against Eridan.

On the other hand, at the moment someone was kidnapping and brainwashing psychics. As soon as Castor was discovered, he would be whisked away and have who knew what done to his brain. He might not even remember Eridan. He might be turned _against_ them.

Eridan spent a long, long time that day staring at Castor, but unfortunately no brilliant ideas presented themselves.

All he knew for certain was that he was more determined than ever that he would not lose Castor.


	5. A Sickening Confirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to keep reminding myself that as a high-blood, Eridan doesn't use all the weird names for objects like 'block' instead of 'room', etc. On the other hand they do have SOME weird names for things, like the vascular pump instead of heart. Bluh, I dunno, just... go with it? Writing him is so hard!

Eventually exhaustion caught up with him, and Eridan fell asleep despite himself. He half expected to suffer daymares of his own, but he woke feeling surprisingly peaceful and happy.

At least until he rolled over and found himself alone in the recuperacoon.

Panic struck him, an irrational certainty that the drones had come in the day to take Castor away, just as he said had happened to the girl Sybele. Eridan bolted up out of the 'coon, barely stopping long enough to throw on some pants before he raced into the main room.

Only to promptly slam straight into Castor as the other troll emerged from the bathroom. "Whoa!" Castor exclaimed, reeling back with one hand clamped to his nose where Eridan's horn had bashed him. "Holy shit, what's the emergency? Was there another explosion?"

"No," Eridan said, leaning against the doorway and willing his vascular pump to slow. "No, evveryfin's fine. I thought..."

He did a double take, staring at Castor's eyes as he realized there was no trace of the blue and red glow. They were the same double-yellow as always. If he was having visions or hearing voices, he showed no signs of it, beyond a certain pinched look that was probably the result of the headaches he'd mentioned the night before.

Now Eridan started to doubt himself. Had he just dreamed the glow in Castor's eyes? The tossing and whimpering could have been due to pain from his migraine. Maybe the meds were just to control the headaches, and he wasn't bi-polar at all. Painkillers had never affected Sollux's powers.

Castor was regarding him with a quizzical and somewhat amused expression. Eridan forced himself to pull it together. "I heard you out here while I was half asleep, and forgot you were supposed to be here," he lied, shrugging. "Had a moment thinkin someone invaded, is all."

"Ah. Sorry," Castor apologized. "I just felt so disgusting, it was driving me nuts, so I borrowed your ablution trap. You slept so soundly last day I hoped it wouldn't wake you."

Ablution trap? Oh... right, that was what low-bloods called a bath tub. Bizarre. Sollux had never been able to explain the low-blood insistence on using alternate terms to Eridan's satisfaction.

Then again Eridan had never been able to explain to Sollux why so many of the 'proper' words had nothing to do with the object's function, like 'toilet'. So maybe they were even.

"Don't worry about it," Eridan waved him off. Now was not the time to bring up the idea that Castor might be psychic. Given the current situation, the possibility might well panic him, and if Eridan had dreamed it after all he'd have freaked out the low-blood for nothing. At the moment they had larger problems to focus on, anyway. "Let's grab some breakfast and talk about what you found," he suggested.

"Sure, works for me," Castor agreed.

By the time they were settled and ready to talk, Eridan felt like his insides were all twisted up and trying to tear their way out through his stomach. Finally he was going to get some answers, but he had a horrible feeling he wasn't going to like what the answers were.

"Okay, first thing I did was hack Sysy's file, since we already know for sure she's been affected," Castor said, bringing up a chart on one monitor. He pointed at certain blocks on a timeline. "Here, when she was first taken in, there's a note she was put through 'loyalty training'. Every sweep thereafter, she went through the same thing again, upgrading and reinforcing the brainwashing, or so I assume. And," he tapped at a box at the end of the timeline grimly, "this notification popped up yesternight, as I was looking at it. They put her through it again, out of schedule. Want to bet me she started remembering things and asking questions after talking to me?"

"I'm not that desperate to throw my money away, thank you," Eridan replied dryly, trying hard to match Castor's dark humour. It was that or start screaming, because this might be even worse than he'd thought. Every sweep? Who had that kind of power? "How many of the psychics go through this?"

"All of them," Castor said, confirming his worst fears. "Every single one, from the moment they're taken and every sweep afterwards. It's not something that's been slipped in, it's an established part of the process."

The twisting turned to outright nausea, and suddenly his bowl of spiced grubmeal didn't seem all that appetizing. He set it aside. "How long?" he asked, barely able to get the words out.

"That's the weird thing, it's been going on for nearly four centuries, but not consistently like it is now," Castor said, and Eridan swallowed a gasp. Four hundred sweeps? How could that be possible? How had they not noticed?

And _why_? Psychics were almost universally low-blooded, none of them would live even close to a hundred sweeps, let alone four. Why secretly program them, and then just leave them to go about their business, ticking time bombs that never went off?

Oblivious to Eridan's distress, Castor was continuing. "It's only been the last hundred sweeps or so that _every_ psychic has been subjected to this," he said, tapping the keyboard and bringing up a different graph. "Going back before that there are increasingly fewer instances. It makes more sense when you turn it around, though."

He pointed at the start of the graph, and followed the rapidly rising line as it went along the timeline while he spoke. "The first cases, back when there were only one or two a sweep, were all rebels and terrorists, psychics known to be a threat to the empire. As time went on, the definition of 'threat' got broader. Any psychic with a criminal record, then with any kind of record at all. Then just all psychics. _Then_ they instituted the mandatory tests for psychic ability at adulthood... and then they started lowering the age, so they could 'train them earlier'. I suspect that what was actually being taken from them got increasingly more invasive, as well."

Eridan felt like he was going to be sick. Castor's words registered, but at a distance, like he was watching a movie or listening to a story. Nothing felt real.

He remembered, now, when Feferi had authorized the use of psychic powers to erase the memories of rebels, so that she could spare their lives. 'No more unnecessary cullings,' she'd declared. 'I don't want any more blood spilled because of my reign than absolutely has to be.'

She'd fretted over the decision for nearly a perigee. Eridan himself had encouraged her to take the unprecedented step of showing mercy to her enemies. It had been intended as a solid symbol that Feferi meant to put an end to the atrocities committed on the low-bloods by the previous Condesce.

But that was _different_. Those were known criminals who would otherwise have been culled. Not trolls innocent of any crime but being hatched with psychic powers. Somebody had taken Feferi's orders too far, and ended up doing the very thing she'd been trying to prevent - abusing the low-bloods.

"Who," he demanded hoarsely. "Did you find out who?"

Castor looked back at him, expression shuttered and unreadable. "You know who," he said quietly. "There's only one troll with the power to make orders like that."

"No," Eridan insisted. He winced at the sound of his own voice, high and hysterical, but he couldn't seem to control it. "No, I tell you. Yeah, she made the first order, about the criminals. But not the rest. She wwouldn't do that!" Castor just kept staring at him, and Eridan pounded his fist on the desk. "I'm shellin you, she wwouldn't _do_ that. I'm her fuckin moray-eel, piss-blood. I knoww her a fuck of a lot better than you do!"

"Then somebody hacked her personal password four hundred sweeps ago, and nobody ever noticed," Castor replied, voice level and eyes blank. "Her code is on every single change in procedure ever authorized."

Standing abruptly, Eridan paced across the room and back. He wished he still wore scarves, because it would have felt very reassuring to chew on one right now. "Is that possible?" he demanded. "Could you do it?"

"Short-term? Yes," Castor said. "It would take me longer, but I could get it done. Not without the hack being caught by the next night at the latest, though. A list of everything authorized by her code is printed out each evening for her to review, and she always does it. I wouldn't be able to take my hacks off the list without also undoing the authority behind them. She's famous for it; no hacker has ever found a way around it."

An unbeatable system, Sollux had promised them. He hadn't been able to protect the main system as thoroughly, they would never have time to review everything authorized by anyone logged into the Imperial network. But protecting Feferi's personal codes was the most important thing. She could undo anyone else's decision with the touch of a button, but nobody could override her.

"Can't be," Eridan insisted again, but the words didn't carry as much weight this time.

Then he shook his head and firmed his resolution. "Cod damn it, no. Somefin fishy is goin on, and I'm gonna get to the bottom a it if I havve to swwim all the wway to the ocean floor. C'mon."

He turned and stalked towards the waterway, gesturing for Castor to follow without looking back to see if the low-blood obeyed. After a moment he heard a sigh and quick footsteps, and he knew Castor was behind him.

With the rebreather the trip back to the main part of the Embassy was far less stressful to Castor, though Eridan had plenty of other worries to occupy his mind. He wished they could just go to Feferi in her private quarters, but it was late enough in the evening that she'd be at the audience chamber already, and this couldn't wait for dawn.

He'd just have to order everyone else out of her presence so he could speak to her alone. As an Imperial Quadrant that was his right, and they didn't dare air this in public. They could start a riot, or worse, if the low-bloods found out that all the worst rumours about how psychics were treated were _true_.

Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on Equius' determination not to let another attack slip though, or what that would mean in terms of increased security. It wasn't something he'd ever needed to worry about, being who he was.

So he was completely startled when two Threshecutioners stopped them with crossed sickles at the entrance hall to the audience chamber. "Halt," one of them said. "Anyone desiring an audience with Her Imperial Condescension must undergo screening first."

"Are you fuckin kidding me?" Eridan exclaimed, staring at her in outraged offense. "Do you have any idea who you're talkin to? I'm the fuckin Imperial Moirail, and royalty besides."

"Of course I didn't mean to say that it applied to you, Disdainful," the guard said, outwardly polite but with a wary look in her eyes as she regarded Castor. "If you want to bring your assistant in with you, he'll have to undergo a blood check. There's been suspicions raised that the previous attack on the sea dock was the work of rogue psychics."

Eridan felt Castor go tense beside him, and when he glanced over, he caught the briefest flash of red and blue in the low-blood's eyes. This time he _knew_ he wasn't imagining it. The colours were gone as fast as they came, so quickly the guards didn't notice with their attention on Eridan, but he knew what he'd seen. A muscle jumped in Castor's jaw, and his fists were clenched so tight it was a wonder he wasn't bleeding.

Castor was suppressing his powers, and the strain was telling on him, Eridan realized with a chill. He _did_ know he was psychic, and he was deliberately hiding it using the medicine. So that he could get into the Embassy to search for his lost moirail, presumably, because that was the kind of stupidly loyal person he was. Sollux would have done the same, no matter the risk to himself.

This time the surge of pity didn't catch him by surprise at all. Eridan accepted the feeling and cherished it briefly, but set it aside for the time being. Right now he needed to focus on saving the idiot from his suicidal tendencies, selfless or otherwise.

With his powers flaring, the blood test would certainly catch the fact that Castor was psychic. Not only would he then be taken away and brainwashed, but he might be labelled as one of the rebels, simply because he'd hidden his powers to infiltrate the Embassy. The guards would never believe it was a coincidence.

If they just turned back now, suspicions would be raised because Castor avoided taking the test. The only thing for it was to plough ahead - they'd still raise suspicions, but by the time it mattered Feferi would know about the problem and be working on fixing it.

Eridan drew himself up to his full regal height, flared his fins to make them as obvious as possible, and stared down his aristocratic nose at the threshecutioner. "Last I checked, blue-blood, I was the one running this Embassy," he said, low and menacing. "Not to mention signing your paycheque. If you like your job, I highly suggest you step aside and stop implyin I would ever bring a threat of any kind into Feferi's presence."

They stared each other down for a long moment, before the guard's green-blooded partner elbowed her nervously. She finally looked away, lowering her sickles and stepping aside. "As you wish, Disdainful."

"Damn straight," Eridan said a touch smugly, and he continued down the hall with Castor hot on his heels.

The moment they were out of earshot, Castor whispered harshly, "Why did you do that?"

Eridan glanced over his shoulder and gave the low-blood a grimly sympathetic look. "You have daymares," he said, just as quietly. "So did Sollux. And your eyes have been flashing when you're tired or upset, so watch it."

Castor nearly tripped over a non-existent wrinkle in the carpet, staring at him. "You know I'm a hidden psychic and you're bringing me into the presence of the Condesce? Are you crazy?"

"I know _why_ you're hiding, and I would be too," Eridan said as they approached the massive double doors that opened into the audience chamber. "Now hush up, before you get us both in trouble. Fef will understand and help, you'll see."

Castor shook his head, but had no time to say anything as the doors swung open and they were admitted to the presence of the Condesce.

Seated on the throne, raised well above everyone else's head on the dais, Feferi looked cool and almost unreal. Even Eridan found it a little intimidating to go up to her when she was like this, decked out in elaborate robes and enough jewellery to probably double her weight.

And at that, she _still_ made herself more approachable than the previous Condesce. The fact that she gave audiences at all was a huge improvement. And she often complained in private about how much she hated the stiffness and pageantry, but it was necessary to reinforce her authority. She sometimes had to pass judgements during these audiences, and those judgements needed to carry all the weight of the throne behind them.

She brightened visibly when she saw him enter, and waved him forward. He knew when she'd spotted Castor by the way her eyes widened, and he permitted himself a bit of a smug smile. She hadn't believed him when he'd told her how much Castor looked like Sollux, but now she could see it for herself.

"Fef, I - we - need to speak to you in private," he said in a low voice once he was close enough for her to hear. "It's urgent, it can't wait for later. There's somefin goin on with the psychics you need to know about right now."

She flicked a curious glance at Castor, who had of course dropped to his knees and bowed the moment Eridan stopped moving forward. She frowned, but nodded and raised one bejewelled hand. "Leave us," she commanded, the perfectly designed acoustics making her voice ring through the hall.

Five minutes later everyone was gone. "All right, Eridan, what's upset you so much?" she asked.

He paused for a moment, a little thrown by the fact that she hadn't descended from the dais like she normally would when it was just the two of them. It was a little off-putting to speak to her when he had to crane his neck up at her. Perhaps it was because she didn't feel comfortable being herself in front of Castor yet, and felt she still needed to keep up the facade of Her Imperial Condescension.

"We got two problems," he told her bluntly. "And they're upright disasters. First off, when the psychics are bein recruited, they're literally bein snatched outta their hives in the middle a the day. It's no wonder there's unrest among the low-bloods, with that goin on."

She looked at him, and to his surprise he couldn't read her expression. Normally she was the proverbial open shell to him. "And?" she prompted when he didn't immediately continue. "You said there were two things."

Once again he was thrown. He'd expected more of a reaction that that, but maybe she wanted to grasp the whole scope of the problem before she started pondering the issue. That was like her. "Second problem is, after they get taken they're bein brainwashed. Cas came here lookin for his moirail, but she didn't even know who he was. It was upright creepy, Fef, I ain't gonna lie. She didn't remember her own past."

Feferi looked at Castor again, who still had his face buried in the carpet. "You may look up," she said. Cautiously he raised his eyes, and she nodded graciously to him. "I'm sorry, it must have been very disturbing for you to have your moirail not recognize you."

Castor blinked twice, and Eridan saw several emotions flit across his face. Shock was the primary one, of course .Eridan let himself feel smug again. He'd told Castor that Feferi would be sympathetic.

The smugness faded quickly as Feferi continued, however. "Normally, it's not a problem that comes up, as very little contact is permitted between psychics and non-psychics. I didn't realize they weren't being given a chance to say good-bye to their former friends and quadrants. You're right, it's very worrying to hear that they're being taken away like that." She sighed. "I gave orders that they should be gathered up quietly and without a fuss, but I probably should have realized how that would be interpreted. The people who act as my arms and hands sometimes have an unfortunately militaristic way of doing things, and that _is_ how it was done when the previous Condesce wanted someone taken into custody. I will make certain that is changed immediately."

Eridan was certain he was hearing things wrong. Or else Feferi was just phrasing things very badly, which wasn't like her. The way she was saying it, it almost sounded like the psychics were being kept apart to prevent people from realizing that they'd had their memories removed. "But what about the brainwashin, Fef?"

"It's not brainwashing, that's a barbaric process and I would never tolerate the psychics being treated so horribly," Feferi corrected him. "A carefully trained psychic simply ensures that their first and only loyalties are to the Empire. Nothing else is changed; their minds and personalities are completely their own, although it does regretfully mean we have to break their previous loyalties by erasing the memory of them. Why are you surprised, Eridan? You were there when this was decided."

"It wwas only supposed to be for criminals, Fef," Eridan protested, thoroughly sickened. "Rebels wwho otherwwise wwoulda been culled!"

"That wasn't enough," Feferi said sadly. "Even people we believed were loyal could turn on us. Sometimes willingly, sometimes because a non-psychic and unprotected quadrantmate was held hostage. You heard what Sollux said. Whatever I have to do to ensure their loyalty, it's worth it."

"This isn't wwhat he _meant_ , Fef!" Eridan said, appalled. "He meant wwhatevver sacrifices needed to be made to keep them _happy_ , howwevver much the high-bloods got pissed off at howw wwell the psychics are treated!"

"But they are happy," Feferi said, clearly puzzled by his continued objections. "They have everything they could ever want or ask for, far more than they would be able to have otherwise."

"Everything except their memories," Castor finally spoke up, viciously bitter. "Everything except the people they love. Everything except their _freedom_."

Castor was on his feet now, and Eridan's vascular pump froze when he looked over and saw the low-blood's eyes had turned solidly blue and red. "Don't!" Eridan shouted, and threw himself at Castor. He just barely got his hand around the psychic's arm when red and blue electricity blasted outwards. The wave of power was considerably less than Sollux could have produced - probably because the suppressing influence of the medication was still in his system.

That difference in power probably saved Eridan's life, and almost certainly saved Feferi's. He clung to Castor and managed not to be swept away, though every nerve in his body screamed in agony.

It passed quickly, though not nearly quickly enough for Eridan. On the throne Feferi looked ruffled and a little singed, but still calm and collected. She stared down at Castor with an amused quirk to her lips, apparently unconcerned by the threat posed by the psychic. "Diamond Deuce, I presume?"

Castor barked a laugh. "I hope you don't expect any points for figuring that out; it's pretty obvious. I told the others they should let me change my name in the system before coming here, but Queen insisted it was too much of a risk that the hack would be spotted."

Eridan looked back and forth between them, feeling like he was completely out of the loop. Deuce? Queen? Those were codenames used by the Wildcard Rebellion. Castor didn't have anything to do with them. He couldn't. "Cas..." he started, not even sure what he wanted to say. He clung tighter to Castor's arm, determined not to let go. "What are you doing?"

"Damn it, get out of the way," Castor snarled, trying to shake him off. "I don't want to kill you if I don't have to. You may be the only high-blood in the entire Empire who actually gives a shit about what's happening to us."

Looking into his angry eyes, Eridan nearly choked as he realized that the blow hadn't been suppressed at all. Castor had deliberately pulled the worst of it when Eridan got into the line of fire.

Castor was going to kill Feferi the moment Eridan was out of the way, and possibly even if he refused to move. And there was nothing anybody could do to stop him.


	6. An Unexpected Reunion

"You realize, of course, that if you kill me you won't be leaving here alive," Feferi said. She sounded perfectly calm about the possibility of her death, and indeed there was an amused smile on her lips as if she was playing a game.

Looking up at her, Eridan felt chilled. He could have been looking at the previous Condesce. There was no sign of the sweet, cheerful, and idealistic woman who was his moirail.

When had she changed so much? How could he have been so oblivious to it? He was still a bad moirail to her, if he'd let her fall so far.

"You think I didn't come here prepared to die for my cause?" Castor replied scathingly. "You think it wouldn't be worth it to me?"

"Killing me won't change anything," Feferi told him, leaning forward. "At least, not for the better. Unlike me, my heir doesn't have any emotional connection to the low-bloods. I've tried with each new heir to make her understand, but I can never seem to reach them. You're young, you don't realize how much better things are for your caste now than they were before I took the throne."

That made Castor hesitate, and Eridan could see the conflict in his eyes. "She's tellin the truth," Eridan hastily put in. "About how bad it used to be, and about her heir. Cas, violence ain't the solution. If you use violence to solve the problem, how does that make you any better?" He'd learned that lesson the hard way, in the game.

"You are so fucking naive it's unbelievable," Castor said in disgust. "How do you even function when you're that deep in denial?"

"Sometimes I wonder that myself," Feferi sighed. "Though it's certainly one of the reasons I pity him."

"Fef! That was upright uncalled for," Eridan protested, stung. Was that really how she saw him? Was that really how they both saw him?

"One more time, get out of my way," Castor said, and power started building between his horns again. "This is your last warning."

"Step aside, Eridan," Feferi agreed. "I don't want you getting hurt."

Frantically Eridan assessed his options. Feferi _still_ didn't seem very concerned, though she had gone tense. She had one hand slightly raised, as if she was signalling him for something...

No, not him. Her _guards_. Of course she wouldn't ever be left unguarded with an unproven low-blood in the room. She wanted Eridan out of the way so the guards would have a clear shot at Castor.

"It's a trap," Eridan shouted, clinging all the harder. "If I move she'll have you shot, idiot! And they'll shoot you anyway if they think you're gonna attack her again. Back down, I'm shellin you, we can work this out."

Castor's eyes widened and he flicked a quick look around the rest of the room. Then suddenly Eridan was grabbed by crackling power and forcibly torn away from Castor. For a moment he thought the psychic was trying to protect him, get him out of the line of fire.

Then he registered that he was now hanging in the air at the top of the domed ceiling, more than high enough to seriously injure or even kill him.

"Shoot me, and he'll fall," Castor said, eyes narrowed and hands pressed to the sides of his head as he concentrated. The power snapped and hissed between him and Eridan, a thin line of safety that Eridan couldn't even cling to.

 _Now_ Feferi looked unhappy. "You will release him at once," she commanded, her voice snapping out across the room like the crack of Eridan's rifle. "If you hurt him, things will go far worse for you."

"Oh yeah, right, like I believe giving up my only advantage is going to make my situation _better_ ," Castor laughed.

"Cod damn it, Cas, here I'm stickin my fuckin neck out for you, and this is howw you repay me?" Eridan said, hurt. He scrabbled at the ceiling above him, instinctively looking for some kind of handhold in case Castor did drop him, but there was nothing he could get a grip on. "I thought wwe reely had somethin speshoal."

"Believe me, I appreciate everything you've done to help me. That's why you're not dead yet," Castor told him bluntly. "Originally I planned to kill you along with her."

Eridan was shocked all over again. Originally? Castor had planned this?

How _much_ of it had been planned? Was Sybele even really someone Castor knew, or had he picked a psychic at random and pretended to be upset when she failed to recognize a total stranger?

All the pity Eridan had been slowly harbouring for the yellow-blood came crashing down in an instant. It left a vacuum behind in his emotions, but not for long - hatred rose quickly to fill it, and left him seething.

Castor had been playing him, right from the start. The little piss-blood had probably been laughing at him the whole time, too; sneering at Eridan's blatantly increasing pity. Now Eridan remembered the confrontation in his office after the explosion in an entirely new light. He should have believed his first instinct that Castor was involved, but like an idiot he'd trusted to the fact that Castor was so much like Sollux, and Sollux would never have hurt Feferi.

"You fuckin traitor," Eridan hissed, writhing against the pressure holding him in place as if he could swim through the air to get to Castor. _Why_ had he ever stopped carrying Ahab's Crosshairs with him at all times? "Wwhen I get my hands around your stinkin, scrawwny neck..."

"Well, if you're going to change your tune..." Castor released him, and Eridan shouted and flailed as he dropped towards the marble floor far below. An explosion above showered him with rock fragments, drawing stinging lines of pain all over his face and hands.

Then Castor caught him again, halfway to the floor. When Eridan caught his breath and looked around, he saw that Castor was now floating beside him, and there was a hole clear through the ceiling to the night air outside.

"Stalemate for now, Condesce," Castor snarled. His eyes flashed brighter, and twin beams lanced down to the floor.

Eridan yelped, thinking Castor had killed Feferi after all, but when the dust cleared she was still sitting there, unharmed. The only damage was to the floor, which now sported two geometrically precise diamonds incised into the marble before the dais.

"Since I couldn't bring any of my cards with me, this will have to do," Castor said mockingly.

"If you harm him, I will have you krilled," Feferi promised, her eyes snapping with fury. "I will not shoal you the same mer-sea I do other rebels."

"You say that like I wouldn't rather die than be a mindwiped slave," Castor spat back at her, and flew up through the hole into the night.

Eridan had absolutely no choice about going along with him. Like it or not, he was completely in Castor's power until the psychic chose to release him.

Almost immediately, several single-person fighter craft rose from the airpads around the Embassy. A few took potshots at the ball of crackling blue and red power that clearly outlined them against the dark sky, though all the shots thankfully fell short. Eridan yelped in fear, and Castor swore as he flew up towards the cloud cover high above.

The ships didn't fire again - presumably Equius was chewing them out for risking Eridan's life like that, or at least he hoped so. They did swarm after them, obviously trying to follow them until they landed. Castor turned in midair and fired multiple blasts at them, cutting them down one after another. Before he'd even taken out half, the rest of the squad peeled away and flew back towards the embassy, retreating and probably regrouping to strategize.

Castor took the offered opportunity, and got them into the cloud cover before they could be tracked again. Once there he pulled his psychic energy in tightly around them, obviously attempting to dampen the amount of light it produced.

Inside the clouds it was cold and damp. Normally Eridan didn't mind either condition, but this wasn't the sort of 'damp' that made a sea-dweller happy. Eridan tried to huddle in on himself, wondering how the warm-blooded Castor was managing. Maybe he was keeping the water vapour off him with his powers."So everyfin was a set-up," Eridan said bitterly. "Was a single damn thing you ever said to me true?"

"Yes, you totally caught me out," Castor replied, and Eridan could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "I set everything up just to fool you, including getting the Condesce to admit to fucking with the minds of the psychics. Congratulations, you're a genius."

That silenced Eridan for a moment. In the heat of his quadrant flipping and the terror of imminent death, he'd forgotten that Feferi had confirmed that there were shenanigans happening with the low-bloods. So that, at least, was true.

"But you didn't hide yourself and come here just to find your lost moirail," he finally said. "Is she even really someone you know?"

"I never said that was why I hid myself, you assumed it," Castor said. "The chance to see Sysy again was a bonus, but I knew she was here when I came and I knew she wouldn't recognize me. It was mostly an opportunity to see how _you_ would react to it. Now shut the fuck up and let me concentrate, unless you want me to drop you. This fucking medicine isn't all the way out of my system yet, I didn't think I'd need to be using my powers this much."

Eridan shut up, but he couldn't stop the angry diatribe inside his head. He felt like the most idiotic of fools - and the worst part was that it wasn't just Castor making him feel that way. He was going to have serious words with Feferi when he saw her again.

Assuming he ever _did_ see her again. "What are you gonna do with me?" he asked, quietly enough to hopefully not break Castor's concentration if the psychic was too busy. "If you're gonna kill me, you might as well get it over with."

Castor laughed, a sound Eridan was rapidly coming to loathe. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're the most valuable hostage we've ever taken."

"Fef won't give in to terrorist demands," Eridan told him, certain of that much.

Castor flashed him a lopsided, wicked smile. "Direct extortion isn't the only use for a hostage, prince. Besides, the Caliginous Queen wants you alive, much to my disgust."

Eridan's vascular pump squeezed oddly, and he snarled. How often had Sollux called him 'prince' in that exact same scathing tone? What had provoked Castor to pick that particular epithet?

How much of this _had_ Sollux foreseen? Was it really impossible for Eridan to get the best of Castor?

Did he even want to try, after being betrayed so thoroughly?

By the time Castor began to drop beneath the clouds again, Eridan was soaked, half frozen, and thoroughly miserable with his own thoughts. Between Castor and Feferi, he felt like he'd somehow woken up in an alternate timeline this evening. Everything had been turned upside down, and he didn't know which way was up anymore.

The building Castor aimed for was far enough on the city outskirts to be considered remote, with plenty of empty space around it, though Eridan could just make out the tallest of the Embassy towers on the horizon. He braced himself as they descended, fully expecting Castor to drop him like a sack of rocks, and he wasn't disappointed.

"Who goes there?"

Two trolls ran up, brandishing rifles, as Eridan was still fighting to recover the breath that had been knocked out of him. Castor wasn't in much better shape, he was surprised to see - the psychic was on his hands and knees in the dirt, panting hard. Maybe he hadn't dropped Eridan so hard on purpose. Or maybe he'd just taken the excuse.

"It's Deuce," Castor finally managed to gasp out. "Tell Queen I'm back. _Now_ , don't argue with me," he snapped when it seemed like the guards were hesitating. "And keep an eye on him, he's a hostage."

Damn, maybe Eridan should have made a break for it while Castor was exhausted? He reconsidered as one of the guards swung his gun around to cover Eridan. He wouldn't have made it far, and they'd probably have shot him on principle just for running.

Too late now, in any case. The other guard scurried into the hive, presumably to report to this 'Queen' as ordered. The hive was massive, the dwelling of a blue-blood at the very lowest. How had the low-blood rebellion gotten their hands on it? There were rules about how large a hive the different castes were permitted, and they were quite strictly enforced.

When the guard returned, he gestured from the doorway at them. "Queen says bring him in," he said. "And also, 'Good work, Deuce'."

"We'll see if she's still praising me when she hears what happened," Castor sighed, shoving himself to his feet.

What would the rebels be upset at Castor for? Well, failing to kill Feferi, presumably. Eridan still wasn't quite sure why Castor hadn't taken the chance, since he'd said he wasn't afraid of dying. Maybe they'd managed to convince him that dealing with Feferi's heir would be far worse. Come to think of it, hadn't he said something about the Caliginous Queen wanting Eridan alive? Why would that be?

The guard prodded Eridan towards the hive, and Eridan went with as much of his dignity as he could gather. Be damned if he'd let these low-blood criminals see him cower or snivel like a frightened wriggler. He straightened his uniform tunic as best he could, and stalked forward into the hive.

They shoved him down the stairs into a basement that could better be labelled a dungeon, right down to the tiny cells faced by metal bars all along the hallway. Why would they even have that? How many hostages _had_ they taken? And where were they now, because the cells were empty.

Eridan wasn't surprised when they pushed him into one of the cells and slammed the bars shut behind him. As he turned back to face the hall, slow ironic clapping came from the stairway.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Prince of Hope himself," a shockingly familiar voice said.

Eridan gaped as Vriska came into view, smirking at him. She looked exactly as he remembered her, wild hair tumbling over her shoulders, vision eightfold glittering, and blue wings fluttering slowly at her back. "Vris?" he exclaimed, clutching at the bars to steady himself. In a day already full of shocks, this might be the worst yet. "You're a part a the Wildcard Rebellion?"

"Part of it?" Vriska laughed. "You must be jesting. My dear Eridan, I'm _leading_ this revolution. I'm the Caliginous Queen, of course."

"Glub," was all Eridan could get out. Vriska, leading a revolution against Feferi? True, they'd never been friends, but Vriska was a high-blood. And she was _one of them_ ; all the trolls who'd played the game together had sworn to help each other no matter what. Fuck, she'd been part of the push to put Feferi on the throne in the first place.

Soon after Sollux's death, she'd disappeared. He'd sort of assumed at first that Tavros had finally died and she'd been in hiding to mourn, but then she'd never surfaced again.

Not long after that, the Wildcards had made their first appearance. A lot of things were suddenly explained, like the resources they had, and the longevity of the rebellion, if there was a high-blood behind it all.

"Oh, not alone, of course," Vriska continued. Her manner was casual, but he knew her well enough to be able to tell she was enjoying his discomfiture. "Karkat started it all; I suppose rebellion was just in his blood. He was the Club King, until he finally died a few centuries ago. Tavros was the Pale Page, Gamzee is the Flushed Fool, and Aradia is the Ashen Ace."

Eridan could feel the blood draining from his face, and he glubbed again. So many of their friends and supporters... fuck, _Gamzee_? Well, not surprising if Karkat and Tavros were involved. But Aradia?

Wait... if Aradia and Karkat were involved... "W-was... Sol...?" he asked, unable to keep the quiver out of his voice.

"No, Sollux was already dead by the time this began, and we'd never have approached him anyway," Vriska admitted. She grinned again. "Of course, when Castor here came to us, I snapped him up and made him the Deuce immediately. I knew we couldn't waste his potential."

"Wait a second, you knew my supposed Ancestor too?" Castor exclaimed. He glared at Vriska. " _That's_ why you told me to mouth off to him, because you knew it would make me seem more like his old kismesis."

"Yes, and it worked perfectly," Vriska replied in an overly sweet tone. "Don't quibble with methods that get results, Deuce. I know what I'm doing."

"Bitch," he accused her, grumbling.

She smiled like he'd complimented her. "Now, darling, you know I'll never be able to replace Tavros in my spade, no matter how you flirt." She glanced from him to Eridan and back again, and her smile became a smirk. "I might be willing to consider Auspitizing, though. If you ask nicely."

As Castor sputtered, Eridan clenched his fists. "Vris, why are you doing this? Why would you of all people turn against Fef?"

"Tell me something, Eridan. Why did you die in the game?" Vriska countered with a seeming non-sequitur.

"Huh? On account a Kan cut me in half with a chainsaw, you were right there watching," Eridan replied, puzzled by the sudden jump into pointless reminiscence.

"I didn't say 'how', I said 'why'," Vriska repeated, leaning forward intently. "Why did you die, Eridan? Why did Kanaya kill you? She wasn't exactly known for going on vicious rampages and killing people she liked... unlike certain trolls I could name. _Why_?"

"I... because..." Eridan struggled to remember. Of course Kanaya must have had a reason. What had he done to piss her off so badly? "I don't fuckin remember, it was too long ago," he finally gave up.

"Is that _really_ the sort of detail you're likely to forget?" Vriska taunted him. "Is there anything else about that gruelling six hundred hours you've forgotten?"

"No," Eridan said slowly, frowning. He could feel pressure building behind his eyes like the start of a terrible headache, and he winced and rubbed at his temples. "No, I... cod, I can't think, it hurts. Why is this even relevant?"

"Oh my god," Castor blurted out, eyes wide. "Oh my _god_. I have no idea what the fuck you two are talking about, but... he's acting the same way Sysy did. He's been brainwashed. It's not just the psychics, she did it to her own _moirail_. That's sick!"

"What? No, that's impossible," Eridan objected, staring right back at him. "She would never do that."

"Yeah, that's what you said about the psychics," Castor reminded him.

"But I'm her moirail, like you said. Why would she mind-wipe _me_?" Eridan said. "I'd never turn against her!"

"Think, Eridan," Vriska urged him. "Think really hard. How did Kanaya become a rainbow drinker? How did Sollux go blind like he predicted he would? _How did Feferi die_?"

"She... I..." The headache was rapidly getting worse, but Vriska's words were prompting flashes of memory to return to him. He stared at his hands like they belonged to someone else, suddenly feeling the weight of his wand in his grasp once more. "I killed her," he whispered, anguished. "Oh cod, I _krilled_ her! I didn't mean to... she attacked me and I fought back wwithout thinkin... I hurt Sol bad, and I krilled Fef and Kan, I evven destroyed the matriorb... oh, _fuck_ , howw cod I forget all a this?"

"The same way I forgot that I killed Tavros and nearly led Jack back to the asteroid," Vriska said. "The same way Equius and Nepeta forgot that Gamzee killed them. So that we wouldn't fight and kill each other all over again. And the thing is... I think we all agreed to it. She couldn't have done it on her own, it would have taken the combination of several of our powers. But I can't remember that part. Only memories important enough to be engraved into our emotions can be retrieved, apparently."

Eridan slumped against the bars, reeling. He could actually picture them all agreeing to that, in the first moments after winning the game and resetting the world, after all of them who'd died were able to return from the bubbles. They'd all been so happy, and so desperate to make things right.

"How did you ever realize?" he asked, and hated the way his voice came out small and frightened.

"How else? Time shenanigans," Vriska said, and Eridan snorted. Of course it was. "Future Aradia came back to tell Karkat that he'd better get his act in gear, or something to that effect. Once he clued in, he came after the rest of us."

"Does Fef know it's you?"

"Oh, yes. I'm not surprised she didn't tell you. You might have started questioning why we would all turn against her, and realized the truth yourself." Vriska shrugged. "We considered just using our game titles as code names, but it seemed a bit too obvious. Only about half of us are involved, after all, and there are enough of you working against us that we didn't want to give ourselves away."

"You still haven't explained one thing, though," Eridan said, struggling to find a foothold of rationality in the midst of the insanity that had been dumped on him. "Why would all a you be tryin to _kill_ Feferi? Surely you could come up wwith a better solution than that!"

"Kill her? Oh, no, no, that's the last thing we want," Vriska assured him. Her wings fluttered a little faster. "Do you really think Aradia is so incompetent that she missed harming Feferi on the ship by _accident_? What makes you think we want her dead? Deuce, did you do something naughty?"

"I told you going in that I had every intention of killing her if I could," Castor muttered.

"Yes, and I told you that you'd never pull it off and only get yourself killed trying," Vriska countered. "I trust you carried out your actual mission as well?"

"I built a backdoor into the system," Castor confirmed, a touch smugly. "It was easier to get the necessary computer access than I expected." He glanced at Eridan, and smirked. "Now any half-decent hacker with my passcodes will be able to break in without getting caught, it won't be a fucking week-long production that only I can handle."

"Excellent," Vriska said, at the same time that Eridan exclaimed, "Oh, you upright _asshole_."

"I nearly did kill her, though," Castor said defiantly, glaring at both of them. "I got a good shot off. It would have worked if this idiot hadn't thrown himself in the way."

"So you pulled the blow to save him? Interesting." Vriska tossed her head and raised an eyebrow at Castor, who flushed. "Sure you don't need that Auspitice?"

"Okay, he actually was _trying_ to help me figure out why the psychics were being brainwashed," Castor mumbled, and he sounded defensive. "I figured having another high-blood aware of the situation and on our side wouldn't be a bad thing, especially one with some actual clout."

"You're right, and I'm glad you didn't manage to kill either of them," Vriska said. "Dealing with her heir would have been much more annoying, and far less likely for us to succeed."

"If you don't want her dead, why do you keep attacking her?" Eridan demanded.

"I told you, it's a wake-up call," Vriska told him. "We're trying to get her attention, but it's hard and we have to keep pushing further every time. Eventually a line is going to be crossed, one way or another."

"I don't know what's glubbed into her," Eridan said miserably. "Or how I could have missed it all this time. I feel responsible for this, too."

"It might not be entirely due to your lack of observational skills... though this is you we're talking about, so I'm not ruling out the possibility," Vriska said with a crooked smile. "But it's also possible that she's been editing your memories all along. There's no way to know how much or how often she's literally changed your mind."

That was a horrifying thought, and he wasn't sure which possibility was worse. The idea that Feferi was continually having his mind wiped of any inconveniently disapproving thoughts, or the idea that he'd somehow managed to _not notice_ her sliding farther and farther down this dangerous slope to disaster.

"Well, I can tell you one thing. You're goin atrout this all wrong," Eridan said. Knowing the rebellion didn't want Feferi dead took a huge weight off him, but it still left the very serious concern of how to fix the problem. "The more you push by tryin to threaten her, the more she'll dig in her fins and balk. Listen to me, I'm her fuckin moirail, I know her better than you!"

"True, and she certainly is stubborn, but she hasn't left us much choice." Vriska shrugged. "We did _try_ just talking to her about it in the beginning, you know. She's so convinced that every step she's taken has been reasonable and justified that she wouldn't budge. She just kept saying we couldn't see the bigger picture, and that she had to look out for the Empire as a whole as well as the needs of individuals."

"Which is a fancy way of saying 'sorry your lives suck, but if you weren't slaves the high-bloods might actually have to get off their asses and do some work," Castor put in bitterly.

"Not quite that bad, but that's the gist," Vriska agreed. "Are you saying you've got a better suggestion, Eridan?"

"As a matter a fact, I do," Eridan said. "Let me go back. I'm her moirail, she'll listen to me, and now that I know what's what I won't let her keep goin down this path."

Vriska laughed. "Oh yes, we're going to give up any advantage we gained by taking you as a hostage, let you go running straight back to report on our whereabouts, and reveal the hole in your computer security we've spent sweeps scheming to put into place. That's a brilliant idea, I can't imagine why I didn't think of it myself."

"I'm sayin let me _join_ you," Eridan persisted, gripping the bars tightly and willing his words to reach her. "Let me be your man on the inside. Damn it, Vvris, we should be in this together. You shoulda come to me in the first damn place! Sol wwas the best fucking kismesis I evver had, I upright lovved that aggravvatin asshole. I'd a wwanted to protect the psychics just outta memory of him."

"Really? Because Feferi told _me_ you were the one who counselled her to mind-wipe the first cases," Vriska said, again in that overly sweet tone.

Eridan flushed as her words struck their intended mark. He briefly debated trying to dissemble, but in the end he decided it would be better to own up to his mistakes. "Yeah, I did," he said. "And I ain't sure I don't stand by that decision, evven noww. That don't mean I think evveryfin that followwed after wwas the right choice."

To his surprise, Vriska's smiled changed from predatory to satisfied. "Good answer. If you'd tried to deny it, I'd have been veeeeeeeery unhappy with you, Prince. As it happens, I'm not sure I disagree with those first cases, either."

"What?" Castor exclaimed, staring at her.

If the yellow-blood's ire bothered her, Vriska didn't show it. "Stopping the culling of all rebels - where 'rebel' includes everyone who ever voiced a dissenting opinion about the Condesce's policies, I might add - was a step in the right direction. The problem is that she then went charging down a different, equally wrong path. That's why our escalation has always matched hers. If she backs off, so do we. It just doesn't happen often."

"Then you knoww you gotta let me help," Eridan said, pleading. "I'vve got the best chance a changin her mind."

Planting her hands on her hips, Vriska looked him over as if evaluating his ability to get the job done. "I want to believe in you," she finally said, and she surprised him by sounding wistful. "I really do, and not just because having a high-ranking official on our side would be the best thing that's happened for us since Castor found us. But you turned on us once before, as you now remember. From every report I've heard, you still treat even mid-bloods with all the respect you'd show a dumpster full of rotting trash. Those are only reports, of course, and I don't have time to grill you personally."

Her wings sped until she lifted to hover just above the ground. "So I'm going to leave your fate in the hands of the only one of us who _does_ have any recent experience with you." Her smile turned sweet again, dangerously so. "I hope you treated him well. Castor, he's all yours. Pump him for info and ransom him back, let him join us, or kill him, it's up to you."

Gulping, Eridan turned to stare at Castor with an expression that probably resembled that of a guppy in a net. His vascular pump was in his throat, choking him. Every argument he'd had with the low-blood came back to haunt him, and he couldn't honestly say he'd come out looking very well in any of them, at least not from the point of view of the rebellion.

Castor's eyes glowed brightly, red and blue flashing from one side to the other. The fanged smile he gave Eridan in response was no reassurance at all.


	7. A Raging Hatred

Somehow Eridan managed to find some steel to ram down his spine. He straightened his back and firmed his expression. If he needed to convince Castor that the rebellion was better off with him in it, he wasn't going to do it by acting like a wriggler about to be culled.

In the moment it took him to compose himself, Vriska flitted up the stairs, leaving the basement empty save for Eridan and Castor staring each other down through the bars. "Not bad," Castor said, still smirking at him. "For a second there I thought you were going to lose it and start begging or something equally pathetic."

"As if I'd blubber in fronta the likes of you," Eridan jeered.

"The likes of me, huh?" Castor repeated, mis-matched eyes narrowed dangerously. "What 'likes' would those be? Psychic? Piss-blood?"

"Damn it, that's not what I meant," Eridan said, realizing his error too late. "Or at least, it's what I meant, but not like _that_. You said yourself that I helped you, that I was worried about the psychics. You didn't want me dead before, why should that change because I want to join you?"

"Yeah, you helped, and if I'd been able to leave you behind alive that would have been perfect," Castor told him. "You could have poked your nose around asking questions at no risk to us. But now you know too much, and no, I don't trust you enough to send you back."

"Why the fuck not?" Eridan demanded, incensed. "What'd I ever fuckin do to you but try to help you?"

He was startled when Castor actually hissed at him, a low rattling sound of anger and aggression. "What did you do? Forgotten our earlier arguments already? Fine, I'll outline it for you. You're an arrogant, condescending, overbearing asshole. You treat even the high-bloods beneath you like crap, and you don't seem to really view low-bloods as anything but tools. I don't even know if your concern over the psychics is genuine distress that _people_ are being treated so badly, or just panic because of some stupid prediction that mistreating the psychics means the end of the Condesce's reign."

He started to walk forward, gaze locked with Eridan, each step like a measured emphasis on his words."Would you care that much if the prophecy didn't exist? You sure didn't give a fuck when it was just that they were being locked away from the rest of society and treated like prisoners 'for their own good'."

Now he was even with the cell, right up in Eridan's face, hands clenched on the bars just above Eridan's grip. They were breathing the same air, and Eridan could feel the heat of Castor's breath against his throat. It made him shiver, and he could feel dark heat of his own creeping through his body, burning in his blood.

"You embody damn near everything I detest most about the upper class," Castor continued, venomously soft. "Secure in your comfortable little bubbles, patting yourselves on the backs about how much 'better' you've made things for us poor, unfortunate low-bloods. Yeah, okay, we're not mindlessly enslaved and culled on a whim like the previous Condesce apparently did. I'll take Queen's word for that, if not yours. We're still starving to death, living in squalor, and dying even earlier than we should be thanks to the impossibility of getting any kind of medical care since we're always at the bottom of the priority list!"

Castor was practically shouting into Eridan's face now. It was clearly a topic he was passionate about. Under other circumstances Eridan might have felt a resurgence of pity for the plight of the low-bloods, but he was still too enraged by the discovery that Castor was a spy. Knowing that Castor had been hiding this kind of contempt for him all along, while Eridan had been upright _pitying_ the asshole, made him seethe.

"So you think the answer is just to kill as many high-bloods as possible?" Eridan challenged him. "Kill the Condesce and as many people associated with her as you can manage. Yeah, that's a fuckin brilliant idea. Then what? You think that'll make the remaining high-bloods magically realize how wrong they've been? Fuck that. The next Condesce will just let Gl'bgolyb kill off a caste or two in return, 'teach the low-bloods their place'. The rebellion will fall apart in terror of further retaliation, and everything will go back the way it was. Only worse, 'cause new restrictions will get fuckin piled onto the lower classes to try to stop it from happening again."

It looked like Castor was planning to argue, opening his mouth with an angry look on his face, but Eridan ploughed right over him. "I fuckin _despise_ idiots like you. It's on account a your type a hothead that the low-bloods are in such a fuckin mess in the first cod damned place. Too fuckin convinced of your own moral superiority to be bothered kraken open a fuckin history book or two. You think nobody's ever tried this shit before?"

"History is written by the victors, of course they'd make it out like the low-bloods brought it all on themselves," Castor managed to break in when Eridan had to stop for breath.

"Sure you gotta take it with a grain a fuckin salt, but the albacore of the truth is there if you take the time to look," Eridan insisted. "Vris is on the right track with _not_ assassinatin Fef, especially if she really did try to talk to her first. But how many mid-bloods d'you suppose died in that explosion on the Sea Dock? How many were in those planes you shot down? And what did you get outta it? Now they're conductin psychic tests on probably the whole fuckin Embassy and Palace staff. Trolls with minor powers who managed to hide it as kids and thought they were safe are now gonna have to run for it. If you keep provokin her, it'll probably spread into the city next."

Guilt flashed over Castor's face, and Eridan knew he'd hit a nerve. He jumped on the opportunity while the tide was out. "Lettin me go back to Fef to talk her around ain't just about whether you trust me or not. It's the _only_ plan that stands any fuckin chance a workin."

"Fuck, you're the idiot," Castor exclaimed. "Don't you _get_ it? The moment you set foot back in the Embassy, she'll have you subjected to psychic interrogation until you give up everything you know whether you like it or not. Especially if she knows you and Queen were friends once. Of course she'll suspect that you might have changed sides, do you really think she'll hesitate to have someone read your mind with the 'safety of the Empire' at stake?"

"So what if she does?" Eridan countered. "What do I really know? The identities of your leaders? Fef already knows that. This location, yeah, sure, okay. You're probably gonna have to move anyway, no matter what you do with me, 'cause if I don't come back you'd better believe they'll be searchin the whole fuckin city hive by hive. In fact, if Vris ain't up there organizin the move right this second, she ain't the woman I used to know and respect."

Castor looked startled, and then chagrined, as if he hadn't thought that far ahead. "None of that matters. The real point is that if you go back there, you won't be doing anything to change her mind because you won't. Fucking. _Remember_."

Eridan felt a chill run along his gills. Castor was right, of course. Feferi had every reason to wipe his mind of everything he'd learned about the psychics and the rebellion, and absolutely no reason not to. But having him stay with them on the run wouldn't do anyone any good. He was useless to them except in terms of his power as the Grand Disdain and his in with Feferi.

They had to take the chance. And first _he_ was going to have to gamble with Castor's feelings about him. All that vitriol directed at him, and yet Castor hadn't wanted to kill him? There was one good explanation for that, and it might be the key to him escaping this mess. "Then I guess it's fuckin up to you to make this emotional enough that I'll remember it later, ain't it?"

The way Castor's expression darkened was promising. He reached through the bars and caught a fistful of Eridan's shirt, hauling him right up against the chilled metal. "You know, I think the thing I hate most about you is that you keep fucking doing things that make me want to _like_ you instead of despising you," he said in a surprisingly level tone.

Then they were kissing, wild and fierce and as drenched in hatred as anything Eridan had ever experienced. Not since Sollux had he felt a black reaction even remotely like this.

Maybe not even with him - Sollux had never hated Eridan as much as Eridan hated him, he'd just enjoyed fucking with a high-blood enough to make up for it.

Castor bit him hard, and Eridan returned the favour with interest. Hot blood spilled into their mouths, the subtly different taste of yellow and purple mingling to create a new, addicting flavour.

Eridan's fins were pressed painfully against the bars, and they got in the way when he tried to wrap his arm around Castor to dig his claws into the other troll's spine. It didn't matter, or at least it didn't bother him enough for him to be willing to stop.

Undaunted, he slid his hand up under Castor's shirt instead. The little freak was skinny enough for Eridan to count his ribs by touch, of course. The lack of gills was odd after so many sweeps of only pailing other sea dwellers, but familiar in combination with the sharp ridges of his bones. Eridan's fingers apparently still remembered all the hot spots this body had - and Castor _did_ have them, as he gasped and keened and squirmed with each new place Eridan found.

"Fucking _stop it_ ," Castor snarled, power crackling in a warning too brief to let Eridan dodge. Eridan was lifted a foot and then slammed into the bars hard enough to make him yelp. "Stop comparing us. Stop treating me like I'm _him_. I swear if you _once_ call me Sol I will fucking cull you on the spot."

"Why would I want to give up an advantage that not only lets me leave you keening, but makes you hate me even more?" Eridan laughed at him despite the pain. Castor slammed him against the bars again, and Eridan relented a little. "I'm not gonna call the wrong name, Cas. Trust me, you've got my full fuckin attention."

"I'd better," Castor snapped. He bit Eridan again, on the fin this time since his head was turned and it was in reach. It was Eridan's turn to keen and squirm helplessly with pleasure as Castor's double fangs sank deep into his flesh.

The scent of burned air filled Eridan's nose, as Castor cranked his powers up another notch. It felt like a live wire was passing over Eridan's body - and when it touched his gills he warbled in shocked pleasure as his knees went weak. The only thing keeping him up was Castor's power, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"Oh? Found a sensitive spot, did I?" Castor murmured, sounding smug. He intensified the power, and it was as if he'd somehow connected the nerves in Eridan's gills straight to the ones in his bulge. It was certainly swelling fast enough.

Too impatient to waste much time on foreplay, Eridan fumbled with the fastenings to Castor's pants. It had been a while since he'd had a concupiscent quadrant, but as hot as he felt he was pretty sure he could have been pailed earlier that night and he'd still have been desperate to go now.

Castor didn't seem to be objecting. Quite the opposite, he chirped and reached for Eridan's pants in turn, his hands no less eager. He let go of Eridan's fin, and their mouths met again. Eridan's tongue tangled with Castor's, and he wasn't in the least surprised to confirm that the other troll had two.

He also wasn't surprised when Castor did hesitate as Eridan moved to push his pants down, using his powers to hold Eridan's hands in place at his hips. Eridan broke the kiss, and smirked at him. "You're an upright freak and no doubt about it, but I promise I won't hate you any less for it," he taunted, knowing exactly what was making Castor nervous.

"Fuck, you are such an asshole," Castor growled in return, and finally removed the crackling electric barrier that had stopped Eridan's hands.

In truth, Eridan didn't even care about Castor's mutations. He'd long ago stopped thinking of double bulges as 'weird', and he just ran his palm eagerly over the twin mounds of bone that hid Castor's bulges.

Not that they remained hidden for long. Castor was obviously - and unsuccessfully - trying to stifle his keening as his bulges emerged to wrap around Eridan's wrist and hand. Eridan slid his fingers along the double lengths in the way that had always driven Sollux crazy, and Castor didn't disappoint, rocking his hips up helplessly.

Caught up in enjoying the effect he was having on Castor, Eridan didn't quite register what the other troll was doing until bony fingers curled around his bulge in return. Eridan chirped and ground against the bars, straining for more of the feel of Castor against him.

Now he regretted not taking the time earlier to get Castor to let him out. Assuming the contrary asshole would have cooperated, of course. It was too late now, because there was no fucking way they were stopping. Not if Eridan had anything to say about it.

"C'mon," he urged Castor, hardly able to get the words out as his throat started to close up on him. "Fuckin _come on_ , piss-blood, showw me what you'vve got. If you got anyfin at all."

Castor hissed again, and grabbed at Eridan's horn with his free hand, using it as a handle to wrench his head back. Eridan's answering keen was strangled as his neck strained, and he felt his bulge writhe against Castor's fingers. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't see straight, until there is _no fucking way_ you will ever forget me, because the marks will last for weeks," Castor growled.

"Yessss," Eridan hissed. It was a reaction to Castor's bulges sliding on either side of his, not to his words, but Castor laughed anyway. One of his bulges found its way to Eridan's nook, and then... _stopped_ , just teasing him, flicking along the edges as it squirmed for entrance. At the same time Eridan's seeking bulge encountered a barrier of solid flesh, and Eridan cried out in wordless protest as he realized Castor was deliberately holding himself back with his hand.

"Aren't you high-bloods supposed to be the mannered ones?" Castor asked breathlessly. "Say 'please'."

"Fuck you," Eridan replied, just as unable to breathe.

"Not until you say please," Castor retorted, laughing.

Eridan was _really_ starting to loathe that sound. "Fuck you _and_ your Ancestor," he replied, a common escalation of the phrase. Then he smirked. "Oh wwait, I already did that."

Castor made an outraged noise, but didn't move his hand. "Please," he insisted firmly.

"You don't havve to beg me," Eridan said with patently false kindness. Castor narrowed his eyes and they glowed brighter in warning.

Too fast for Eridan to react, Castor shifted his hand to let go of his own bulge and grab Eridan's instead. This time his grip was punishingly tight, just on the bearable side of agony, and Eridan gasped and warbled. Then the warble changed to a high keen as Castor's bulge slid the rest of the way inside him, his other bulge wrapping around the base of Eridan's.

The feel of Castor's bulge writhing inside him was indescribable. Contrasting that with the bulge-blocking grip Castor had on him made both sensations feel all the more intense, and Eridan was getting desperate. It wasn't going to take much more to break him, and he wanted so badly to be inside Castor when he came. It would be humiliating to spill his genetic material all over the place, and he was sure Castor would manage to make certain Eridan was the only one who got drenched.

Pride warred with need, and Eridan shuddered as Castor started stroking him, still too tight but so fucking good when he was already so close to the edge. Castor bit his fin again, right in the same place that was still throbbing from earlier, and Eridan choked.

Shrill beeping rang through the hive, echoing in the stone chamber of the basement, startling both of them. "Fuck," Castor gasped, shuddering against him. " _Shit_ , how could they have found us already?"

"Don't you _dare_ fuckin stop," Eridan cried out, clutching at Castor's shoulders hard enough to drive his claws in through the shirt.

"Just fucking say it already," Castor replied, and it was clear he wasn't going to budge.

Need finally won out, and Eridan gave in. "Fuck, _please_ ," he shouted, and then nearly shrieked when Castor released him and his bulge found Castor's nook at last.

It felt better than anything he could remember ever feeling before. The urgency of the alarm drove them on, and they writhed and ground against each other, claws digging and teeth sinking deep into vulnerable flesh, the bars a hard counterpoint to their soft bodies.

Before long Eridan was shivering with overwhelming sensation, and he finally lost control and emptied himself into Castor's nook. That seemed to be a trigger for Castor's release as well, because a moment later Eridan felt the familiar sensation of warmth and pressure as he was filled. He clamped down automatically as Castor withdrew, holding the material inside himself where it would mix with his own until he could get to a bucket.

Castor was gasping, his grip on Eridan's shoulders apparently the only thing keeping him upright. Eridan didn't feel much better. "I swwear I wwill remember you," he promised wildly, knowing they couldn't have much time left. Distantly he thought he could hear the repetitive percussion of gunfire. "Somehoww, I wwill. Fuck, Cas..."

"Don't worry, I won't let you forget," Castor promised in return, his mis-matched eyes glittering with feverish power. "I'll find you, and I'll drill my existence into you as many times as it takes for it to make a permanent impression."

"Deuce!" someone, maybe Vriska, shouted from the top of the stairs.

"I'm coming," Castor shouted back hoarsely. Eridan flattered himself that there was a great deal of reluctance in the psychic's movements as he pulled away. "I'll leave you here," he said to Eridan, reaching for his pants to pull them up. "If you're in the cell for them to 'rescue' it should be more convincing that you were nothing but a hostage.

Belatedly, Eridan did the same, trying to make himself as presentable as he could. He felt full to bursting, and the thought that he likely wouldn't have access to a bucket for _hours_ made him groan, but there was nothing for it. For that matter, it might help him remember, if he was still holding it after they tried to wipe his mind of Castor's existence.

The thought of forgetting made his vascular pump clench. "Wwait," he said desperately, and clutched at Castor's arm to pull him back in again. The kiss was sloppy and urgent, both of them trying to pack as much sensation and memory as they could into a few brief moments.

There was a pop of displaced air that Eridan vaguely recognized, and then Castor was pulled away from him. Blinking, Eridan looked over the psychic's shoulder to see another familiar winged figure, this one with dark red wings. Aradia gave him a sunny smile that was only a little knowing, and wiggled her fingers at him in greeting. "Sorry boys, that's all the time I can give you," she said. "Good luck!"

"Not yet," Castor said, eyes wide as he looked at Eridan and rushed to get the words out. "I have to..."

With another pop they were gone, and not two seconds later heavy booted footsteps clattered on the stairs. Two trolls in the uniform of the threshecutioners piled into the room, weapons raised and ready to fight. The paused when they saw the basement was empty except for Eridan, behind the bars.

Taking a deep breath, Eridan shoved thoughts of his kismesis to the back of his mind, though he clung to them tightly there. Right now, he needed to put on the show of his life, and convince everyone right up to Feferi that he had no intention of joining the rebellion.

"Well, what are you fuckin waiting for, an engraved invitation?" he demanded, gesturing imperiously at the threschecutioners. "Get me the fuck outta this cage!"


	8. Epilogue

"I swwear to you, Fef, it's the cod damned paperwwork that's gonna fuckin krill me. It wwould help a fuck of a lot if I cod get an assistant wworth their fuckin pay." Eridan glanced up briefly to see Feferi giving him a sympathetic smile over the viewscreen. He sighed and returned his attention to his reports, but not without a little smile of his own. Just talking to her always made him feel better.

Well, that was sort of the definition of a moirail, but still. It was a nice effect.

"I keep shelling you, if you'd just treat them a little betta they'd work harder for you," Feferi scolded him. He didn't need to look up again to know she was rolling her eyes; they'd had this conversation far too many times before.

This time, however, Eridan had some new ammunition. "I just had one that wwas upright brilliant, and I treated him as bad as evveryone else," he insisted. What the hell had the assistant's name been? Aster? Cassy? Fuck, he couldn't remember. He went through them so fast he rarely bothered to learn their names. He couldn't even remember this one's blood colour. "Wwhat the fuck happened to him, anyway? He just didn't showw up one night. Gotta lot a fuckin nervve, wwalkin out on me."

Feferi said nothing for a long moment, and when Eridan looked up in surprise, he caught an unexpectedly cold and serious expression on her face.

When she realized he was looking she quickly smiled, but the glimpse of darkness bothered him. What was she so upset about, that she wasn't telling her moirail? That was a bad sign.

"I'd say that's an argument in my favour, then, if he left because you treated him so badly," Feferi laughed. Did it sound forced? Or was Eridan over analyzing? "Don't work yourshellf too hard, okay?"

"Fef, is there anyfin you wwanna talk about?" Eridan asked, concerned. "If you need a feelins jam, I got all the time in the wworld for you. The paperwwork ain't _that_ glubbin important."

This time her smile reached her eyes. "You're the best moray-eel. I really couldn't do without you. I'm just worried atrout you!"

"Then I promise I wwon't wwork all day," Eridan said, smiling back at her. "It's late, though, and you'vve got audiences in the evvening, don't you? Go to sleep, Fef."

"All right, I will," she said. "And make sure you kelp that promise! Good day, Eridan."

"Sleep wwell, Fef," Eridan replied, and reached out to switch off the connection.

To his surprise, what replaced the video was not the file he'd been working on, or even his desktop background, but a blank black screen. Just as he was cursing the fact that it had broken down when none of the tech crew would be available, characters started writing themselves on the screen like a live-time Trollian chat log.

why diid you diie iin the game, fii2h-face?

Eridan stared at the text, haunted. It was Sollux's quirk in Sollux's colour - and one of Sollux's favourite taunt names for him, too. The question made him feel physically sick, even though it made no sense at all.

c'mon, priince, you'd better not have forgotten me after all.  
come two your re2piite block alone.  
ii'll be waiitiing.

Eridan was out of his chair and through the door before his brain caught up with him and informed him that this was impossible. He'd either fallen asleep or hallucinated the text - or it was somebody's idea of a very tasteless prank.

Even so his vascular pump was pounding, and his feet refused to slow down. The sense of urgency he felt was overwhelming, as if it would only be real if he could get there fast enough.

The halls to the sea dweller quarters were still flooded, as there had been another attack when Feferi left to return to the palace. Eridan had never swum so fast, and when he shot out of the water at the other end he didn't even make a pretence of waiting for the dryers to do their work.

And there he was - sitting at Eridan's computer, typing furiously on the keyboard, a familiar manic smile on his face. When Eridan skidded to a halt and gasped, the other troll raised mis-matched red and blue eyes to smirk at him.

"Sol?" Eridan blurted out, stunned breathless.

Immediately the other scowled. "Okay, that's your one free mistake, and only because I'm feeling generous," he snarled. "Call me that again and I will rip your damned bulge off the next time I get my claws on it."

Staring at him, a pounding headache built behind Eridan's eyes, but memories began to flash in his mind. He remembered that snarling voice, like but unlike Sollux's sneering lisp... and he remembered those claws on his bulge.

"Castor," he said, heat flushing through him, quickly followed by hate. And then followed by astonishment. "Howw the fuck did you get in here?"

The scowl became a smirk again. "Ace brought us back to before the building existed, moved us to where I said your block was, then took us forward again. How do you think we've been getting past the security?"

"Fuckin time shenanigans," Eridan said, rolling his eyes. The headache was getting worse, but his hateful glee at remembering Castor's existence made up for it. " _Wwhy_ are you here?"

"To remind you who you work with now," Castor snorted, shoving away from the desk and sauntering towards him. Eridan felt rooted to the spot, watching him come, pinned by the glitter in his red and blue eyes. "And to keep you honest. You think she's not gonna have you wiped again every time you start to seriously argue with her?"

"As a matter a fact, I don't," Eridan said. "She's not as unreasonable as you think, I keep shellin you. She'll listen, I just gotta handle it delicately and not dump on her all at once." He hesitated, then asked, "So, that means you're stayin?" He didn't see how Castor could be planning to go in and out all the time, but he had to be present to keep reminding Eridan of his existence. "You ain't evver gonna be able to leavve, you realize that?"

Castor laughed at him, reaching out to catch his shirt in a tight fist. "Why would I want to leave? I've got the best computer system money can buy - or I will, once the stuff I just ordered on your credit arrives - access to the Imperial Database, and," he grinned, the expression as manic and full of heated promise as any smile Sollux had ever given him, "I get to ride herd on my kismesis. What more could any geek ask for?"

Eridan smiled right back at him, and caught him by the back of the neck with sharp claws digging into his spine. Castor made no move to dodge or zap him. "I'm gonna provve evvery last one a you wwrong wwhen I convvince Fef she's gotta change. And you're gonna apologize to me on your knees, ain't you?"

"If you can manage it, I might just do that," Castor told him. "But every time she wipes your mind and you fucking call me Sol again, you'll be on your knees for me, first. Won't you?"

"And I'll make you scream _my_ name evvery fuckin time," Eridan promised him, reaching for the fastening of Castor's pants as he sank to his knees.

Paperwork be damned. His life was about to start improving.


End file.
